CHAPTER ONE

FARIDDION

 

Jezebel stood before the gate of Fariddion, her long light‑blue dressing gown tied tight at the waist.
“What is this place?” she whispered.
A sound to her right made her glance down. A black rabbit sat beside her bare feet, looking up at her with a familiarity that warmed her chest. Another soft noise came from behind. She turned and found herself staring at someone else’s bare feet — then up into the face of a tall young girl in a sparkling red‑and‑gold dress. Straight blonde hair, light blue eyes, and a calm, confident presence. Jezebel thought she looked relaxed. And certainly not ugly.
“We’re here,” the young woman said, only a little older than Jezebel — or so she seemed.
Jezebel made a startled sound in reply and knelt beside the rabbit.
Beyond Tibbar’s ears, pink and orange cotton‑wool clouds drifted lazily. They looked far too thin to stop anyone from falling. The ledge they stood on was no wider than a narrow road.
“Are you sure I’m ready for this, Tibbar?”
The rabbit met her gaze.
“Yes,” came the reply — not through his mouth, but inside her mind. His voice always sounded like a perfectly pitched sweet instrument, identical every time.
+
But before we step deeper into Fariddion, dear reader, you must know how Jezebel came to be here at all.
Tibbar had first appeared one September afternoon, lying beside the garage wall at Jezebel’s home. She’d scooped up the toy and rushed to show her parents, Brian and Pamela. They insisted they’d never seen it before. Brian even visited several neighbours to ask if their children had lost it. No one claimed it. Though Brian wasn't all together sure of his next-door neighbour, Mark Deckers reaction. It seemed odd. However, Tibbar became Jezebel’s.
Then, one Friday after school, Jezebel went to her room, sat on the cream toy box at the end of her pink bed, and tossed a few stray toys inside. After a quick visit to her en‑suite, she returned — and froze. Scratching and knocking came from inside the toy box.
Curious rather than frightened, she lifted the lid, expecting her battery‑operated dog to be misbehaving again.
A black rabbit hopped out onto the soft blue carpet.
Jezebel fell backwards in shock.
It bounced around the room, then sat still, nose twitching.
“Where did you come from?” she asked.
“You found me in the garden, Jezebel,” said Tibbar.
“You can talk! No — yes! I heard you! In my head! Did you talk?”
“Yes.”
“I must be imagining this. Say my name again.”
She waited. Nothing happened. A small disappointment tugged at her. She sat back on the toy box, laughed nervously — then noticed the rabbit staring at her whiteboard.
A purple marker lifted into the air and wrote: Jezebel.
“OH, MY, GOD!” she squealed, hands clutched to her chest.
A gentle voice filled her mind. My name is Tibbar.
The marker wrote again: Tibbar.
Jezebel accepted Tibbar. And unbeknown to Jezebel, this dark rabbit had more in store for her than she could possibly imagine.

Ten days later, Tibbar asked if she wanted to see where he lived. Jezebel said yes. That night, while she slept, he brought her to Fariddion.
And that is how she came to be standing here.
+
Jezebel rose and faced the gate again.
“Well… if you say so,” she murmured.
“I do. And it is meant to be,” Tibbar replied.
“Come. Let us show you our home,” the young woman said, lifting Tibbar and stepping forward.
“Wait!” Jezebel called. “We haven’t been introduced. My name is Jezebel.”
“I’m delighted to meet you,” the girl said warmly. “I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time.” She stroked Tibbar’s ears. “My name is Astar. I died when I was seventeen. That was thousands of years ago.”
“Thousands?” Jezebel gasped.
“Yes. I come from a time when the lands were together.” Astar lifted her chin, content at the sight of Fariddion. “Time is irrelevant here. And you need not tell me about yourself. With Tibbar, I have seen much of your young life.”
Wisps of pink and orange cloud curled around them, smelling faintly of sweet incense.
“Alright…” Jezebel said. “I suppose we can go in now.”
“Good,” Astar replied, cheerful.
As they stepped forward, Jezebel finally noticed the two enormous owls guarding the gate. Their white bodies blended into the glowing walls rising from the clouds. One owl turned its head toward her and hooted. Jezebel clapped her hands over her ears and hurried after Astar and Tibbar, shivering.
The gate vanished.
A breathtaking fan‑vaulted ceiling soared three hundred feet above them. A long white marble path stretched ahead through a garden of exotic flowering plants. Golden pillars rose every fifty feet, supporting a ceiling of radiant light. High above, clouds drifted. Butterflies fluttered along a rainbow’s edge. Swallows chirped and darted, circling back to spy on Jezebel.
“Your mother is knocking on your bedroom door,” Tibbar said from Astar’s arms. “She’s trying to wake you. Your aunt is coming today.”
They continued along the marble path.
“What should we do?” Jezebel asked, brushing her brunette hair aside and folding her arms.
“Nothing. For a little while longer,” Tibbar said. “Time on the living earth has no effect here.”
“Okay…” Jezebel frowned. Such a simple statement felt impossibly strange.
Astar began to sing, her contralto voice warm and resonant.
“Time doesn’t exist here, like the living earth, like the living earth, like the living earth…”
“My my, you have such a beautiful voice, Astar!” Jezebel said, glancing behind to make sure nothing followed.
“Thank you,” Astar replied, still singing.
“Dad tells me lots of musical things,” Jezebel added.
“Do not be alarmed by the keepers of the gate,” Tibbar warned.
Jezebel grabbed Astar’s hand as several large faces appeared, then vanished again. They looked like warriors.
“The keepers have seen no foe,” Astar said. Jezebel felt utterly bewildered.
They walked on. Up ahead, Jezebel thought she saw the end of the path.
“Are there foes?” she asked.
“The Stranded,” Astar said, her tone shifting. “Of those I speak, you will see.”
Astar floated upward like a balloon, Tibbar in her arms. They drifted with the butterflies, blowing pretend kisses to the swallows, then settled back beside Jezebel.
“Gosh… I wish I could do that,” Jezebel said.
“It could be arranged,” Astar replied.
A transparent screen blocked their way. Astar and Tibbar passed through it as though it were tracing paper. Jezebel closed her eyes, held Astar’s hand tight, and followed.
On the other side, a vast array of cloud doors spiralled upward, floor after floor, ledge after ledge.
People and animals moved about with purpose and joy. Jezebel watched them fondly. This world felt as alive as anything back home. Its inhabitants wore costumes from every era of earth’s history.
“Greetings!” boomed a voice.
Jezebel’s eyes climbed higher and higher. At the top of the massive cloud wall was a face of immense force and presence. Tree‑trunk arms opened in welcome.
“Tibbar… Astar… you brought her back,” he said, amused. “You said you might. How interesting.” Jezebel shrank back, but Astar steadied her.
“Do not fear me, little Jezebel. I may look dangerous, but I can be as gentle as a… a… rabbit.” He laughed and transformed into a house‑sized Tibbar.
“This is Storm,” Astar said. “One of our elemental guardians.”
Jezebel turned to her, then back — Storm had returned to his usual unusual form.
“Yes, my name is Storm,” he boomed. “For obvious reasons. We don’t get visitors from the living earth.”
“Everything’s so big here,” Jezebel said.
“I’m not,” Tibbar noted.
“That’s true,” Jezebel agreed.

“Well, I am very big,” Storm insisted. “But it’s my turn to watch the gate of Fariddion. Perhaps I’ll stay a moment longer. I do visit the living earth occasionally, Jezebel. You might see me at the head of a storm front, or reflected in a window — a house window, a car window.' Storm looked reverent, in deep thought..., a train window... it could be me. One day, from the living earth.”
With that, Storm slowly vanished into the entrance.
“We have allotted time for you to explore one shop,” Tibbar said. “There are many behind that cloud door.”
“One shop? Okay,” Jezebel replied, trying to sound casual.
She was now more uncertain than ever that she was awake.
They crossed a shiny black marble floor. Tibbar almost disappeared against its dark surface. Tiny specks of light moved far below, drifting left to right like distant stars.
Jezebel followed, feeling oddly like a prisoner — yet safe. As they neared the cloud door, she noticed a large group of whales swimming beneath the marble. Their slow, graceful movement mesmerised her.
She stopped as one rose alarmingly close. Its enormous pectoral fin broke through the floor like the surface of a calm sea, then sank again.
“That’s a blue whale!” she gasped.
“Don’t worry. That was Bluey yes,” Tibbar said. “She was just having a look at you. Come, Jezebel.”
They stepped through a thin veil of cloud.
Small shops stretched out before them — each one unique. Not like a modern mall where only the contents differ. These were crafted by master builders: fine timbers, stained glass, stonework, round and square and triangular dwellings, even shapes Jezebel couldn’t name. Colours she had never seen shimmered across their surfaces.
The cacophony of sounds overwhelmed her. People pointed and giggled at the sight of her — not cruelly, but with warm curiosity. Jezebel poked her tongue out at a few adults and pulled faces at some children. They looked surprised, then quickly lost interest.
A solid man with a red beard stood beside a horse‑drawn cart, twisting balloon animals that came to life and flew away in bursts of colour.
“There is no money here in Fariddion,” Tibbar explained as Astar lifted him into her arms. Jezebel hurried to keep up with Astar’s long stride.
“Or sales,” Astar added. “Or crime. No bills, no landlords, no squabbling. We have no use for bank managers or politicians, unlike the living earth.” She began to sing again.
“We’ve got everything you need, here in Fariddion…”
Jezebel smiled. She liked Astar. Trusted her.
A pod of orcas swam beneath the marble. One leapt high above the lane, then plunged back into the floor. Jezebel stared after its tail and bumped into a middle‑aged woman carrying a tray of lemon and raspberry tarts.
“Oh — I’m sorry,” Jezebel said.
“Think nothing of it. Would you like one, dear?”
The woman looked exactly like Jezebel’s Great Aunt Betsy: large black hat with a red ribbon, long black coat with silver buttons, white lace at the hem of a dress that hid her shoes.
“No thanks,” Jezebel said quietly.
“Why ever not? Don’t be afraid,” the woman encouraged. “It’s so soft you can’t even taste it.”
A large hairy ape‑like man pushed past, snatched a lemon tart, stuffed it into his mouth, and wandered off.
“Don’t mind him,” she chuckled. “He takes one around this time every week.”
Jezebel glanced at Astar and Tibbar. Seeing no objection — and the ape‑man safely away — she took a red tart. When she bit into it, it remained untouched.
“One day you will be able to taste it,” Tibbar said. “But you will have a long life.”
“Whoops,” the woman said cheerfully as they moved on.
Astar plucked the tart from Jezebel’s hand.
“Too good to waste,” she said, swallowing it in one go.
Above her head, Jezebel noticed a sign: The Shop of History.
“Can I go in this one?” she asked. “Can this be my shop?”
“If that’s the one you want, enter,” Tibbar said. “But be warned. What you choose must be considered carefully. Fariddion is magical — but it can bring pain if provoked.”
“I’ll be fine. Back soon,” Jezebel said, hurrying inside.
Tibbar and Astar sat on a nearby seat.
“She won’t like it,” Astar murmured. “Is this test necessary?”
“Yes. She must build her spiritual strength. She will need it for her mission. And it is her choice,” Tibbar replied.
“Then we’ll leave,” Astar said. “We have unwelcome visitors, I hear.”
“Most alarming,” Tibbar agreed.
Inside, an old woman stepped behind the counter. She spoke slowly. Behind her, video‑like screens and large posters showed major events of history. A young boy appeared on a white circle beside the counter, holding a milkshake. It vanished from his hand.
“Gee, thanks, Mrs Sheen!” he said, running out.
“You’re welcome, JW,” she replied.
“Welcome to the Shop of History. I am Mrs Sheen. Which aspect of history interests you today? Are you interested in milkshakes too?”
“Hello, I’m Jezebel. I’m not sure. I’m studying history at school and it’s very interesting.”
“Very well. I am here to gift,” Mrs Sheen said warmly.
“We’re reading about the first man to climb Mount Everest,” Jezebel explained.
“Edmund Percival Hillary,” Mrs Sheen said, removing her glasses to clean them. “What aspect of the climb do you wish to see?”
“I’ve seen lots of old footage of him climbing mountains,” Jezebel said. “But never reaching the summit.”
“So… you would like to see him reach the summit?”
“Yes please. That sounds cool.”
“A dangerous choice,” Mrs Sheen chuckled. “We’ll have to leave together. Your request is granted. Shortly, step to your left — onto the large white circle.”
Unconcerned, Jezebel hopped onto the circle and vanished.
“Heavens!” Mrs Sheen yelped. “I’m not ready to leave yet, girl!”
+
Jezebel landed on the summit of Mount Everest.
She screamed.
A fierce icy wind tore at her dressing gown, untying it. She dropped to her knees — there was almost no space between her and the deadly drop. The cold was brutal. Her breath caught in her throat as she fumbled to knot her gown. Her hair whipped across her face. Her hands turned blue.
She realised, with sudden clarity, that she might freeze to death.
“Bloody hell!” she coughed, crouching low as another gust slammed into her. The wind came from every direction, snapping her belt like a kite tail. She clutched her gown tight, but it did little good.
She couldn’t see Mrs Sheen.
But she could see the world — endless rocky peaks rising above the clouds. She felt as high as her father’s friend’s jet plane.
Minutes passed. Only the wind kept her company.
Then, for a moment, the wind stopped. Jezebel smiled. She was on top of the world. It was beautiful. Mrs Sheen would arrive soon. She stood — wobbling — then steadied herself.
“I’m ready now, Mrs Sheen!” she called.
More minutes passed. Doubt crept in. A bank of cloud rolled over the summit, hiding the sun. Jezebel had never felt so alone. Panic rose in her chest.
“Daddy,” she whispered silently, hearing his laugh in her mind. Then Aunt Cathy — sweet Aunt Cathy, who was supposed to babysit her tonight.
At that same moment, Aunt Cathy awoke from a terrible dream in her apartment in Tooting Broadway, on the outskirts of London. Dawn light crept through the curtains. The image of Jezebel crying in the snow felt alarmingly real. Cathy shook it off and went to make tea.

 

Jezebel sobbed, overwhelmed by self‑pity and cold. Her face felt numb, like an arm that had fallen asleep.
“Oh, why did I choose Mount Everest…” she croaked. Speaking hurt. Her voice barely rose above a whisper. Her feet throbbed. Her hands burned with cold. Her nose felt like ice. Another blast of wind shoved her down.
Then, suddenly, the cloud cleared. The wind stopped. Blue sky opened above her, and a soft light warmed her frozen face. It was nearing midday. Her tears glittered as tiny beads of ice. The view was magnificent — a thousand miles of rarefied air stretching over the plains of Tibet — but to Jezebel it looked like a death sentence. Nothing but rock and snow. Nothing to help her.
Panic surged again. She struggled to her feet, though there was no reason to stand, and collapsed almost immediately. Dizziness stole her balance. She tried again, hands outstretched to break the fall, but the cold stole her breath. Exhausted, she lay on her back, eyes closing as the wind and snow continued to pester her.

“Top of the world!” said Mrs Sheen.
Jezebel’s eyes snapped open. Someone was here.
“Mount Everest,” Mrs Sheen continued. “Eight thousand eight hundred and forty‑eight feet high, Jezebel.”
Jezebel couldn’t answer. She managed to sit up, shaking uncontrollably.
“There’s half as much oxygen here as at sea level,” Mrs Sheen explained, pulling Jezebel to her feet. “That’s why it’s so hard to breathe.”
She slipped on her black glasses. A little strength returned to Jezebel’s legs. Hope flickered.
“Cold, isn’t it?” Mrs Sheen said, surprised by Jezebel’s condition. She pulled the girl close, rubbing her shoulder. “I told you it was a dangerous choice, little lady.”
Jezebel huddled into her side, still sobbing quietly, legs shaking.
“It took me some time to decide when you had arrived. We’ll head back soon enough. Not a place I would have chosen to visit on the living earth.”
Jezebel’s teeth chattered uncontrollably as she buried her head into Mrs Sheen's coat. Mrs Sheen continued her educational commentary.
“It is minus twenty‑two degrees Celsius at the moment. Twice as cold when the wind howls.”
Jezebel tried to speak, but the wind stole every word.
“The year is nineteen fifty‑three,” Mrs Sheen said, holding her hat. “The twenty‑ninth of May. It’s warm here now.”
Jezebel’s eyes widened at the absurdity of the statement. Another icy gust coated her skin in a harsher layer of cold. Her pajamas and dressing gown felt like stiff cardboard. Her hands and feet were numb, almost dead.
“It’s warmer too because it’s approaching eleven‑thirty in the morning. And they’ll soon make summit.”
Jezebel didn’t move. She would stay like this until Mrs Sheen took her back. The winds eased again.
“As you can see, Sherpa Tenzing Norgay and Edmund Hillary are approaching the summit. There.”
Jezebel could barely open her eyes, but she saw the two climbers on a ridge only a short distance away.
“What fine climbers they are,” Mrs Sheen said. “Most worthy of any monarch’s knighthood. Hmm? What are you trying to say, girl?”
Jezebel whispered, “Please… take me back.”
“Oh, very well,” Mrs Sheen sighed. “I always miss them reaching the top for some reason.”
With surprising strength, she guided Jezebel toward the edge. Jezebel barely cared as they stepped off together onto strands of orange cloud. The snowy mountains dissolved, and they emerged back into the Shop of History, standing on the large white circle.
Jezebel screamed in pain. People stopped to stare. Some newcomers looked confused — their own memories of earth still too raw. Guides hurried them away.
Jezebel stared at her cracked, bleeding lips. She shivered uncontrollably. Then a force gripped her body. Ice vanished. Snow melted. Her hands and feet, moments ago blue and purple, turned pale again. She collapsed onto the circle.
+
She woke in a field of tiny pink flowers. Warm air carried drifting seeds. A handsome boy a little older than her age handed her a vanilla ice‑cream cone with strawberries. They shared a sweet smile. His face was clear, his hair glowing in the sun behind him. He then held out a tiny yellow wizard. Jezebel tingled with happiness.
Then she realised she was still on the white circle.
“I haven’t had to do that for a long time,” Mrs Sheen said. “Sorry. I hope your pain is over now, sweet girl. I rarely receive visitors from the living earth.”
The onlookers nodded with understanding and moved on.
“I feel fabulous,” Jezebel sighed. Her lips were smooth. Her hands warm. Her hair soft again. She stepped off the circle, waved politely to Mrs Sheen, and ran for the door.
Astar stood, holding Tibbar, as Jezebel reached them. Jezebel burst into tears.
“I thought I was going to die!”
“It was your choice,” Astar said gently. “We are sorry.”
“Fariddion is not like Earth,” Tibbar added. “I did warn you to be careful what you choose.”
“That was too cruel a lesson,” Jezebel muttered. “Please don’t do that again.”
“We won’t if you won’t,” Astar said with a small smile.
Jezebel pointed angrily at the shop.
“She took her sweet time bringing me back!” she snapped, then stormed off.
“Oh, Jezebel!” Mrs Sheen called from the doorway. “To be considered the first person to conquer Everest, you must climb from the bottom to the top and back down again. And next time, don’t jump onto the white circle until I’m ready. Everyone knows that.”
Jezebel felt overwhelmed. Mrs Sheen smiled and went inside.
Astar stepped in front of her and sent a wave of comforting energy through her.
“Are all the shops capable of… of that?” Jezebel stammered, checking her dressing gown for any trace of snow.
“Yes,” Tibbar said. “Gifts are granted constantly. But you are unprepared for this place. It was very real for you. Say the wrong thing and you could end up anywhere, forever. A gift of oblivion.”
“Watch what I say to shopkeepers. Got it,” Jezebel said. “Next time I’ll choose the history of chocolate.”
“Or milkshakes,” Astar said brightly. “One of my favourites.”
“Jezebel,” Tibbar said. “In ten seconds there will be a commotion. We will materialise back at the entrance gate. Be ready.”
“It is time for you to meet the Stranded,” Astar said softly.
Jezebel looked at her with dread.
In a split second, they were back where Jezebel had first met Storm — and Storm was there, rumbling with fury. The sound shook her to her core.

“The Guardian Owls have destroyed many of the Stranded, but they’re still getting in,” Storm thundered. “The keepers of the gate are smashing hundreds… They’re through!”
Storm spread his arms behind the tracing‑paper‑thin veil. Jezebel froze in terror, then bolted. Astar caught her before she could run blindly into another cloud door, holding her tight.
More colossal beings appeared beside Storm — Fire, Water, and Earth. Their bodies burned, gushed, and shifted in constant motion, roaring for battle.
The Stranded snapped through the veil one by one and were immediately attacked. They were roasted, drowned, crushed, torn apart. But unlike the guardians, the Stranded looked like people — twisted, crazed, furious. A foul smell accompanied them. Jezebel clamped her fingers over her nose. They wore black robes marked with slashed grey symbols and hurled cold blue energy balls and sticks of fire.
Astar raised her hand and stopped a blue orb mid‑air. It fizzled out.
Several of the Stranded’s black orbs slipped around Fire and Water. Storm gave chase, turning into a tornado. All but two orbs were caught and crushed, turning Storm a smoky grey. Two Stranded and two orbs escaped toward a cloud door.
“Look, Bluey!” Water shouted.
A massive blue whale surged up from beneath the marble floor, swallowing the escaping Stranded and their orbs in one enormous gulp. Its gigantic body rolled gracefully and sank back below without a ripple.
The noise of battle was unbearable. Jezebel buried her face in Astar’s side. She couldn’t watch anymore.
Storm, Fire, Water, and Earth stood shoulder to shoulder, forcing the remaining Stranded back toward the Gate of Fariddion.
Gamaden the Golden Wizard arrived with one hundred apprentices in golden hooded coats — but the battle was already over. The distant sound of the Guardians expelling the last of the Stranded echoed like a fading storm.
“Forgive me,” Gamaden said. “Juggling too many apprentices in entrance‑level combat trials is a job for a clown. An impossible task. Damn you, Sycast.”
His closest apprentice bowed his head in shame.
“Quick, follow me!” Gamaden called, leading his apprentices toward the gate.
Jezebel looked up just in time to see someone leap from a high ledge. A tiny yellow dot grew larger until an angel in a long yellow robe landed beside her. Dark eyes, dark skin, curly hair.
“No surprise in victory,” she said to Storm as the guardians returned one by one.
“Teamwork makes dream‑work,” Astar chimed.
“Who’s that?” Jezebel whispered.
“That’s Bootum,” Astar said.
“On the contrary,” Fire hissed, its voice dry and seething. “I felt resistance to my temperature unlike anything in the last battle.”
“Agreed,” gurgled Water. “I needed to increase pressure when drowning them. Baffling.”
“I too increased my pounds per square inch far beyond usual,” Earth rumbled.
“I am injured,” Storm announced.
Everyone turned.
“The black smoke released in me was a poisonous gas. I must travel to Earth to cleanse myself. It may take days. This level of damage is alarming.” Storm coughed violently and vanished.
“I will stand ready for your return,” Water said.
“Where will he go?” Jezebel asked, stepping closer to the entrance hall.
“To find a cyclone,” said a large tortoise approaching her. Old, wrinkled, slow — but with a sweet, pungent scent.
“My distant cousins from the Galápagos tell me there is a suitable cyclone off the coast.”
The tortoise plodded closer until its beak was inches from Jezebel’s face. She tried not to flinch.
“The girl of the living earth,” it said.
“Will Storm be alright?” Jezebel asked.
“Yes,” the tortoise replied. “I believe so. I am Rubbuz. I have never spoken to someone from the living earth.”
“I’m Jezebel.”
“Hello, Jezebel.” Rubbuz made a deep, thoughtful sound.
“Who are the Stranded?” she asked.
“Their residual conscience exists in a state of uncontrollable violence,” Bootum said. “A harmful energy. A mind unwilling or unable to let go. Such perception is no longer welcome here.”
“Were they ever welcome?” Jezebel asked.
“Oh yes,” Tibbar said, hopping from Astar’s arms onto Rubbuz’s shell.
“In our distant past, all were welcome,” Tibbar continued. “Then one man, Harden, proclaimed himself ruler of Fariddion. He and his followers grew stronger, more controlling.”
“They began to punish Fariddions,” Bootum added. “A crossroads many foresaw.”
“It was an alliance between people and animals,” said a man with the appearance of an American Indian. “I am Chief Sitting Wolf. No sovereign rules this realm. Fariddion is held together by all and protected by the Elemental Guardians. Their memories are eternal. They insisted we never again allow those with Stranded souls to enter. It was — and is — no more.”
“Since then, those who enter Fariddion are guided in by light below,” Water said. “Our natural selection.”
“As you can see,” Sitting Wolf said, pointing downward, “the lights beneath your feet are leaving Earth and coming here. They enter through certain areas — but not this gate. I must check on the owls.”
Sitting Wolf and Water moved toward the gate. Water’s massive weight sloshed and stamped like a waterfall.
Outside, the Guardian Owls flew high above. One swooped low and smashed through Water. Water laughed as the owl squawked happily, refreshed by the splash.
“Is this heaven?” Jezebel asked.
“Yes... and no,” Rubbuz said. “There are other places called many names. There are things even we do not know. Perhaps there is such a place. That is for you alone to discover.”
“Wait,” Jezebel said slowly. “Why are you telling me all this? There must be a reason you brought me here. Tibbar? Astar? What good could it possibly do to waste your time telling me all this?”
They all looked at her with quiet fondness.
“All will be explained soon,” Tibbar said. “We are late to return. We must leave now.”
“Wait! Just like that, Tibbar?” Jezebel protested.

 

 

CHAPTER 2 — Somnambulism

 

Pamela scooped a lifeless Jezebel from her bed and hurried toward the door. Jezebel’s pink sheet tangled around her legs, slowing her. It finally slipped free and fell in a heap on the hallway floor.
Jezebel felt heavier than Pamela remembered. In a daze of frantic steps, she carried her daughter down the staircase, Jezebel’s limp body flopping helplessly in her arms. Pamela’s heart clenched at the sight.
“Flip’n heck,” she whispered through gritted teeth. “Sorry, baby. We’ll make everything alright. Just hang in there, sweetheart.”
She stumbled off the last step just as Brian pushed open the front door. Tall, lean, phone in hand, he froze at the sight of Pamela — flushed with panic — and Jezebel, pale and motionless in her favourite light‑blue dressing gown.
Pamela brushed past him, refusing his attempt to take Jezebel, and collapsed into the nearest kitchen chair, cradling her daughter protectively.
“I didn’t know what else to do, Brian!”
“That’s alright, love,” he said gently.
“I couldn’t just leave her like that in her bed!”
“She’s breathing, right?” Brian asked, checking Jezebel’s wrist.
“Yes. She’s breathing,” Pamela panted.
“I can feel a pulse,” Brian said, offering a thin smile.
“Oh good.” Pamela frowned. “She doesn’t seem to have a temperature.”
“Good. What the Dickens is it?” Brian opened Jezebel’s mouth. “Nothing blocking her… breathing’s normal. Hmm.”
“Look at her eyes, Brian!”
They both froze.
“They’re not brown anymore. They’re light grey!” Pamela gasped.
“I’ll call Doctor Hooper,” Brian said, scrolling through his contacts. He pressed call and stared out the window, willing the doctor to answer. He was put on hold. He turned back — and froze again.
Jezebel’s brown eyes were open, calm, looking right at him.
She yawned and stretched sluggishly. Pamela and Brian collapsed around her, hugging her, crying, asking questions all at once.
Jezebel slowly realised she wasn’t in her soft pink bed but slumped awkwardly on her mother’s bony knees. Pamela burst into fresh tears. Jezebel felt a rush of emotion she didn’t understand — joy, relief, confusion — and cried with them. She needed them both.
“What happened, Jez?” Brian whispered. “Was it something you ate? Raw sweet potato?”
“We were starting to think the worst,” Pamela said.
Jezebel let out a startled yelp and leapt to her feet, panting, staring wildly at them.
“How did they do that?” she blurted.
“Who?” Brian asked, alarmed.
“It’s alright, baby,” Pamela soothed.
Brian’s phone rang. “Hello? Dr Hooper — Brian York. We’ve had an issue with Jezebel. She seems worked up. We couldn’t wake her this morning — completely unheard of…”
He stepped aside, explaining everything. Jezebel stared at Pamela, aghast.
“What, Jezebel? What happened?” Pamela begged.
“My god. Fariddion, Mother!” Jezebel whispered, shaking her head.
Brian stopped mid‑sentence, stunned.
“Sorry, doctor — what was that? You’ll call back? Alright.” He hung up and returned to Jezebel.
“It’s alright,” Pamela said, attempting a smile. “Are you in any pain?”
“Yes,” Jezebel said blankly. “I mean — no. Not at all. Sorry.” She brightened suddenly. “I stood before the gate of Far—”
She snapped her mouth shut.
“Yes, go on,” Brian urged. “Where did you go? Who with? Do we know them? Was it far?”
“Let her talk, Brian,” Pamela said.
They stared at each other in silence. Jezebel wanted nothing more than to run to her room and remember Fariddion. She tried once — just once — to explain.
“Surprise!” she said, hands raised innocently. “I was pretending to be dead. Just acting. We’ve been doing plays at school. I’m playing a dead person. I want to be an actress, that’s all…”
The look on their faces said everything.
“WHAT?” Pamela shrieked, shooting upright. Her voice echoed through the eight‑bedroom Tudor‑style house, loud enough to reach the old windmill by the river.
“Have you lost your mind?” she demanded, collapsing back into her chair.
“Pretending?” Pamela burst into tears. “No. Impossible. You weren’t pretending, Jezebel. I know you weren’t. Oh please — what’s going on?”
“I… don’t really know,” Jezebel said. Daddy’s usual cheerful face was gone. Lying was new to her — and she was terrible at it.
“I’m embarrassed to tell you because… because you’ll think I’ve gone mad.”
She loosened her dressing gown, ran a hand through her hair. She wanted to tell them everything — but she couldn’t. Not about Fariddion. Not yet.
“What?” Pamela sniffed. “Darling, you don’t have to be ashamed. We’ll be understanding. Won’t we, Brian?”
“Of course,” Brian said. “You can tell us anything.”
“We have to know,” Pamela insisted.
Jezebel thought of her mother’s reaction to the first lie. She needed something softer. Something believable.
“I’m sorry for freaking out — which you totally deserved,” Pamela added. “You were unresponsive! You can’t lie to me about this, Jezebel. This is—”
“I’m sorry, Mother. I think I went too far… sleepwalking.” Jezebel nodded earnestly. “Yes. That’s the truth. I’ve been sleepwalking. I think it made it hard to wake me. It’s never happened before. It’s odd. Surely you can see why I hesitated?”
She held her breath.
“I’ve heard similar stories from Mrs Plunket’s husband,” Brian said.
“Oh? Really, Brian?” Pamela asked hopefully.
“Yes. She has a devil of a time waking old Bert. He told me even a bucket of cold water didn’t wake him when he sleepwalked out the front door.” Brian grinned. “Or so he said.”
“You’ll have to see Dr Hooper this morning,” Pamela said.
“Speaking of Doctor Hooper — here’s a message,” Brian said, checking his phone. “He’s out all day. Sarah Mellon is on duty. She’ll come. Should I book a time?”
“Oh god, no. Not her. Sorry, Jezebel — you’ll have to wait until—”
Brian’s phone rang again.
“It’s Doctor Hooper,” he said. “Yes, Doctor? That’s fine. Thank you. We’ll see you then.” He hung up, relieved.
“I’m so concerned,” Pamela murmured.
“I’m fine, Mother. Really,” Jezebel said, trying to sound calm instead of wildly excited.
“Really?”
“Yes. I’m awake now. And I’m sure it won’t happen again while I’m awake.”
“Well, that depends on what Doctor Hooper says. Please tell me he's coming today, Brian?”
“Around three.”

“Can I go to my room now, please? I’ve told you everything I know. Besides the sleepwalking stuff, I’m feeling really good.”
“Well… I suppose there’s nothing else we can do until Doctor Hooper arrives, so… yes,” Pamela said, still shaken.
“Don’t worry — I’m fine,” Jezebel yawned.
Pamela flinched at the yawn. Jezebel laughed.
“Sorry. It’s not like I’m at death’s door.”
jezebel waited at the kitchen entrance for her dad.
“Alright, Jezebel,” he said, joining her. “No going out until you’ve seen Doctor Hooper. Other than that, we’ll wait and see. You’d deserve an Academy Award if you were pretending.” He chuckled. “Of course it’s some kind of sleep apnea. I’m going to get dressed.”
He headed upstairs, half‑laughing with relief that his daughter was alive and talking.
“Sleep apnea is when you stop breathing while asleep, Brian,” Pamela called after him. “And a BAFTA!”
“Hold on, Jezebel!” Pamela said, her voice softening. “I need to talk to you about your rabbit.”
Jezebel stopped halfway up the stairs and came back down, wary. Brian continued on.
“Did you eat anything during the night?” Pamela asked.
“No.”
“Was Rabbit hungry during the night?”
Jezebel’s eyes widened.
“Why?”
Pamela spoke quickly.
“I think there must be a real rabbit living in your room. One of my sweet potatoes was taken from the bowl — and look at this chewed‑up mess under the table on my clean tiles.”
“Did Tibbar do that?” Jezebel asked, genuinely surprised.
“No. Tibbar’s a toy. I hope you didn’t eat any of that raw sweet potato, hmm?”
Jezebel saw the concern in her mother’s eyes. Another lie was required.
“No, I didn’t eat it. I… broke it up and pretended to feed Tibbar. Sorry, Mother. I’ll clean it up.”
She swept the mess into the metal bin while Pamela watched her like a hawk.
“There we are,” Jezebel said brightly. “All done.”
Pamela bent to inspect the tiles, then nodded.
“Where is Tibbar now, anyway?” Jezebel asked, rubbing her eyes.
“Your toy rabbit… Tibbar?” Pamela turned — and froze.
Tibbar was no longer beside the fruit bowl. He lay comfortably on his side on the soft blue carpet at the lounge room entrance.
“I don’t understand. This toy is never where I put it. How did he get there?” she murmured. She turned back to Jezebel with a baffled laugh. “How odd. I didn’t know you could move his arms and legs around. Brian?”
“He’s not a boy,” Jezebel muttered under her breath. “Or is he…”
“Coming!” Brian called, appearing in a white dressing gown and slippers, phone to his ear. “Would you mind waiting a moment?” he said into it.
“Jezebel just cleaned up that sweet potato under the table, and I told her it was funny how you placed Tibbar on the floor like that,” Pamela said.
“Who?” Brian blinked.
“Tibbar. Jezebel’s toy rabbit.”
“Oh. I didn’t put him there,” Brian said plainly. “You didn’t eat any of that sweet potato, did you, Jezebel?”
“No, Daddy,” she said, tightening her dressing gown.
“Oh good. Well, we can rule that out then. You’ve scared us both half to death!” Brian spluttered. “Shower, then I’ll get dressed.”
Jezebel and Pamela heard the crunch of tyres on the white pebbles outside. They looked through the kitchen window to see a yellow sedan pull up near the front door.
“That must be Cathy. She’s a little early,” Pamela said, glancing at the grandfather clock chiming eight.
Jezebel seized her chance. She darted to Tibbar, scooped him up, dashed out of the kitchen, opened the front door, and ran to greet her aunt.
Pamela watched her through the window for a moment, then turned back to the kitchen. She shuddered with relief, rubbed her cheek, and let herself breathe.
“Thank god she’s alright,” she whispered.

 

CHAPTER 3

 

HIDE THE KEYS

 

Cathy closed the door of her yellow Volkswagen convertible Beetle. She smiled as she took in the view of their beautifully kept country home. Cathy had grown up here as a child with her three sisters. Her parents, Gabrielle and John Carrington, had sold the house to Brian York several years ago. It had been too hard for them to maintain the property in their ageing years. Cathy loved the smell of this place. A part of her heart was here.

Today, Cathy was wearing new blue jeans, white sandshoes and a comfortable light-yellow jumper to match the colour of her new car. She held a black guitar case in one hand, a small brown suitcase in the other, and her small pretend sunflower Gucci handbag rested over her shoulder. She smiled with joy as Jezebel ran up and wrapped her arms around her.

‘Hi Jezebel!’ greeted Cathy happily. ‘You’re looking… scared. What’s wrong?’ she asked with concern.

‘Did you go to Fariddion too?’ asked Jezebel.

‘Sorry Jez. Where?’ asked Aunt Cathy.

‘Oh… maybe not. I’ll explain what I mean soon enough,’ sighed Jezebel.

‘I see you’ve brought your rabbit out to greet me,’ smiled Cathy, noticing the toy in her hand. Jezebel looked intensely again at Cathy. She desperately needed to know about Tibbar.

‘Is it the same rabbit you had?’ whispered Jezebel hopefully.

‘I don’t know. We’re talking a very long time ago now.’ Aunt Cathy smiled at Jezebel, then looked closer. Her eyes narrowed. The smile left her face. She could feel a presence coming from the toy. Her mouth opened in recognition.

‘Yes. It’s him alright,’ whispered Aunt Cathy, studying the toy rabbit thoughtfully. Jezebel sighed with relief.

‘Hi Cathy!’ announced Pamela, coming out to greet her. Pam blew her nose with her handkerchief. ‘New car! I like it! Funny, I saw one exactly like this the other week go past here. It wasn’t you was it? It looked like you.’ Cathy concentrated and smiled naturally at her sister’s questions.

‘Hardly,’ laughed Aunt Cathy with a reassuring smile. She stepped forward and hugged her sister.

‘Nice drive down?’ asked Pam.

Cathy replied with the sweep of an outstretched arm. ‘Just gliding along the motorway listening to some new CDs I bought recently.’

‘CDs?’ questioned Jezebel happily. ‘I love your CDs.’

‘Downloaded onto a memory stick I’m afraid, Jezebel,’ shrugged Cathy.

‘Your hair looks a good deal longer,’ remarked Pamela thoughtfully.

‘Hair is getting to be a luxury for me to maintain these days. You look fabulous as always, Pam!’ Cathy admitted, though she did think Pamela looked slightly pale today. Pamela was twelve years older than Cathy and not overly confident in her own looks.

‘I’ll shout you a trip to the hairdresser while you’re here,’ smiled Pam. ‘Come in. I’ve got some scrambled eggs warm in the oven. I just finished making them for Brian. I’ll make him a fresh batch later. The chickens are producing more than we need. He’s getting very busy with his herbs now. It’s really taking off,’ explained Pamela, taking two steps up to the front door.

‘That’s fantastic news,’ smiled Cathy. 'Thank you for the offer of a hairdresser. My hair salutes you.'

‘It’s been a very eventful morning here. But that’s an ongoing story,’ confided Pamela.

Aunt Cathy looked puzzled before saying, ‘Okay… I would love some scrambled eggs. I’m starving.’

Aunt Cathy followed her off the crunching pebbles, while slightly averting any contact with the scary vines that grew up and around the outside of the house. Last time Cathy was here her high heel shoes had sunk down into the white pebbles and broken off. The time before that a large beetle had dropped off the vines and landed on her shoulder, which caused her an awful fright. Jezebel brought up the rear and closed the door behind them.

Dropping her bag and guitar gently down inside the doorway, Cathy made her way into the kitchen.

‘Sorry I’m a little early,’ said Cathy, looking at the grandfather clock. ‘Just wanted to beat the mid-morning traffic. I thought Jez may have been sleeping a little longer. I’ll take these up shortly,’ she explained, walking over to the magazine rack in the corner and noting that the magazine which inspired her to purchase her new car was still there.

‘Let’s go upstairs,’ suggested Jezebel.

‘I’m sure Aunt Cathy would love a cup of tea first,’ advised Pamela, still watching Jezebel with concern.

‘You’re right, Sis. I would love one. We’ll go up shortly, Jez, okay?’

Cathy could see that Jezebel was very impatient to tell her about the rabbit in private. So she’d try to keep the conversation short. Cathy really wanted to chat with Pamela longer, but that would have to wait.

Pamela filled up the large silver kettle from the kitchen tap pumped in from the rainwater tanks.

‘Still white and two?’ asked Pamela.

‘Half a sugar now. I’m on a diet,’ replied Cathy. Pamela poured Cathy’s tea from the teapot into the Meakin cup on the saucer. Cathy came over and took a seat at the kitchen table. She happily added her own milk and sugar.

‘Before you go upstairs, Cathy, I have to tell you what happened this morning. I’m sorry Jezebel but your aunt needs to know in case it happens again.’

Aunt Cathy was taken aback by her sister’s dramatic story. She listened intensely. But by all the facial gestures Jezebel was conveying to her without Pamela’s knowledge, she knew there was more to the story than met the eye.

‘Anyway…’ finished Pamela, looking a little exhausted.

Brian walked into the room and sat down at the kitchen table and greeted Cathy with a smile and a wave.

‘Time for some scrambled eggs, I hear, Cath,’ smiled Brian, bringing the salt and pepper over and pouring some tea.

‘You enjoy, Brian,’ smiled Cathy.

‘I’ll make you some later, Cath,’ smiled Pamela, serving up the piping hot plate straight out of the warm oven.

‘Okay. Well, I’ll head up for a while with Jez and be back down for your brilliant scrambled eggs soon. Is that alright with you, Sis?’

‘True. They are brilliant,’ smiled Brian, happily munching away.

‘No problem, take your time,’ replied Pamela, thinking about the horrid start to the day. She prayed that Dr Hooper would find a cure.

They hurried upstairs and into Jezebel’s room.

‘Okay… what’s going on?’ asked Aunt Cathy, closing Jezebel’s bedroom door behind her and leaning on it with her hands behind her back.

‘Wow… where do I start? Okay. From the beginning. Last night Tibbar took me to Fariddion.’

‘Who? Where? What is this Fariddion?’ asked Cathy, looking perplexed.

Jezebel sat down onto the toy box, cuddling the toy rabbit, and told Aunt Cathy everything. At times while Jezebel explained this sensational tale, Cathy thought that maybe Jezebel was losing her mind. Was her being unable to wake up this morning some kind of mental condition? However, one part of the story made Aunt Cathy recall her own dream.

‘Stop!’ said Cathy.

‘What?’ asked Jezebel.

‘I woke up this morning to a terrible dream. You were in the snow crying.’

‘Exactly,’ smiled Jezebel. ‘You knew I was in trouble. You know about Tibbar. You can help me!’ She continued.

It was true that Aunt Cathy had had many unexplained situations with Tibbar when she was young, but nothing of the sort that Jezebel was experiencing.

‘And so I told Mother that I have a sleepwalking problem,’ continued Jezebel dramatically.

‘Oh my…’ laughed Cathy. ‘Oh my,’ frowned Cathy. ‘Doctor Hooper might start doing tests on you to try and find a problem that doesn’t even exist?’ Aunt Cathy was feeling confused. She so wanted to believe, but it was all so fanciful.

‘And then—’

‘Wait,’ demanded Aunt Cathy. ‘One minute, please.’ Jezebel nodded.

Cathy walked forward and sat on the ground. Jezebel watched Cathy close her eyes, fold her legs, take in a deep breath and slowly release it. Then Cathy repeated her deep breathing several more times.

‘Right!’ Cathy jumped up, marched over to the toy rabbit and picked it up.

‘No joking. I want to hear you, Tibbar!’ demanded Cathy. Cathy was determined to hear something. She closed her eyes, wishing to hear anything.

Cathy gave a muffled scream as she opened her eyes to see she was holding a real live rabbit in her hands.

‘Oh my…’ gushed Cathy. ‘How on earth?’ Cathy walked quickly to Jezebel and dumped the rabbit on her.

‘Come and sit next to me, Cathy. He won’t bite.’

Cathy, with her hands still over her mouth, ran into the ensuite and closed the door.

‘Oh my… I heard him. I swear I heard him say my name,’ complained Cathy.

Jezebel nodded thoughtfully to herself. ‘Yep. She can hear you now alright, Tibbar,’ said Jezebel, now sitting and waiting for Cathy to come back out.

The door slowly opened and Cathy stuck her head out and stared at Tibbar.

‘I wasn’t expecting that!’ complained Cathy, frowning.

‘I need answers, Aunty.’ Jezebel looked at Tibbar then back at Cath. ‘Will you help?’ Jezebel looked vulnerable.

‘Of course I will,’ half smiled Cathy, walking over and taking her hand. ‘I do remember he never hurt me. And he definitely talked to me. It’s ten years ago now. That really just shocked me, Jezebel.’ A frown turned into a smile. The years fell away.

‘It’s the same voice!’ explained Cathy. ‘Called me Cath. You know, later when I looked back at my time with him—I was about sixteen—I questioned everything. I thought I must have been imagining it all. I definitely believe you now.’

‘I didn’t realise you didn’t believe me,’ admitted Jezebel, fondling the cord of her light blue dressing gown.

‘Well, you didn’t tell Pamela or Brian about Fariddion, did you?’ explained Cathy.

‘God no,’ replied Jezebel, looking alarmed.

‘So you can’t just expect me to get it all straight away after all this time, can you?’ explained Cathy, her arms folded.

‘No. I suppose not,’ agreed Jezebel.

Suddenly Tibbar jumped down and sat up. He clapped his paws together.

‘Did you hear that?’ said Cathy. ‘He wants us to hide your dad’s key cards!’

‘Not key cards. Car keys,’ explained Jezebel with a smile. ‘And he’s not a boy.’

‘He’s not? I mean, are you sure?’ asked Cathy.

Jezebel looked confident. ‘Yes, car keys,’ she affirmed. ‘But I guess I don’t really know if he’s a boy or not.’

‘You must have very strong psychic ability to hear Tibbar as clearly as you do,’ smiled Cathy.

Then Jezebel added, with building alarm in her voice, ‘Maybe that’s why Tibbar and Astar need me? It’s because I have to hide Dad’s keys? Did you hear that? We’ve got to delay Dad from taking James to the airport today! Gosh. Is there a chance of an accident?’ asked Jezebel.

Tibbar didn’t reply.

‘Let’s just tell Brian,’ said Cathy.

‘We can’t,’ disagreed Jezebel.

‘Yeah… you’re right. What are we going to do?’ wondered Cathy.

‘We’re going to hide his keys, that’s what,’ said Jezebel.

‘I’m starting to get the feeling this weekend is going to get a bit more complicated than I expected,’ said Cathy. ‘Where does he leave his keys?’ she schemed.

Tibbar sat up straight and lifted his ears to listen to their plan.

+

‘Have you seen my keys, Pam?’ asked Brian, as he walked into the kitchen to find Pamela, Jezebel and Aunt Cathy seated at the wooden kitchen table having breakfast together. He noticed that Pamela was halfway through eating hers, but Cathy hadn’t touched her plate yet. Jezebel had finished and was wearing her favourite light blue and red-coloured dress with black shoes.

‘You’ll love those eggs, Cath,’ smiled Brian.

‘You never lose your keys, Brian,’ said Pamela.

‘True. They’re not on my bedside table,’ he continued. ‘I’ve looked everywhere I would usually place them.’ Brian looked sadly at his Seiko chronograph wristwatch. ‘Do you have any ideas?’ He scratched his head.

‘You’ll just have to take my keys, darling,’ said Pamela patiently. ‘They’re in the ignition. I left them there when I went shopping yesterday afternoon.’

‘Right,’ smiled Brian, checking that he had the spare garage door key in his pocket. He also wished Pam would stop leaving the keys in the ignition. An easy target for thieves, reasoned Brian.

‘Alright! I’ll see you back here once I’ve dropped the boys off at the airport,’ waved Brian, and he walked briskly out the front door.

‘Thanks for taking the boys, darling!’ called out Pamela. ‘He’s so helpful.’

Pamela looked surprised as Jezebel and Cathy stood up at the same time and walked quickly after Brian.

‘Come to see me off, have we?’ grinned Brian. ‘What a fabulous day. Not a cloud in the sky.’

‘Mm,’ agreed Jezebel uneasily, marching alongside her unsuspecting target.

In a funny French accent Brian said, ‘I shall see the boys off. Then your mother and I are going away for the night.’

Brian hurried over to the garage and unlocked the side door quickly. The wooden door swung back with a bang to reveal the modern Land Rover. Jezebel tried to pass by her dad, who was having none of it in his eager state to leave.

‘Sorry baby, but I don’t want to be late!’

Jezebel walked up to the passenger side window of the Land Rover and saw the keys in the ignition.

‘They’re in the ignition!’ whispered Jezebel.

Brian made an amused face to his daughter on hearing some whispering. He had a funny little laugh to himself as he pushed the button for the garage door to open. Brian swung about and walked casually back to the Land Rover, whistling.

Jezebel looked pleadingly at Cathy, hoping she would get the keys, but Cathy couldn’t do it.

As Brian opened the vehicle door, he paused a moment to say goodbye. He was delighted to see Jezebel run around to him demanding a hug before he left. But instead of receiving a sweet hug, Jezebel squeezed past her dad, climbed into the driver’s seat, yanked the door out of Brian’s hand and locked him out.

‘I… she’s doing acting classes at school this week,’ said Brian.

Aunt Cathy pretended not to know what was going on and laughed awkwardly with apparent delayed awareness.

Brian stood looking with amusement for a moment. ‘Jezebel, would you please unlock the door,’ said Brian firmly.

Jezebel looked straight ahead, breathing deeply, not knowing what to do next.

Brian now laughed with surprise at Jezebel’s stubbornness. ‘I have to take James to the airport, baby. We can act later. Unlock the door now… please.’

Brian turned about to face Aunt Cathy with a strained attempt at a smile vanishing from his face.

‘Oh I love acting, Brian,’ explained Cathy helpfully, and squeezed past Brian to block the window next to Jezebel.

‘Oh Jezebel. Wherefore art thou, Jezebel? Wherefore art thou keys to heaven? My kingdom for success!’ acted Aunt Cathy dramatically.

But as she said this, she was secretly pointing for Jezebel to get the keys from the ignition.

‘Open the path, ye spirits. Take it from the stone of Merlin. Pull them out and find your goal in your grasp! Grasp them now! As the angels have demanded of you!’ shouted Cathy, a little too loudly.

She needn’t have bothered, for Jezebel had every intention of grasping the keys from the column.

‘Take them! Take them in your hand and open the door to thou kingdom come!’

Aunt Cathy smiled at Brian, knowing Jezebel—who was quite enjoying Cathy’s performance—had taken the keys out of the ignition and held them tightly within her hand.

‘Come out from behind the curtain. All is done,’ Cathy continued, as Jezebel opened the door slowly.

Cathy turned around to face Brian and smiled broadly as Jezebel placed the keys into Cathy’s open hand behind her back. Cathy closed her hand tightly, then folded her arms in a relaxed way right in front of Brian.

‘The task we were set to accomplish is complete!’ smiled Jezebel. ‘All will now be safe in your world, oh dearest father,’ concluded Jezebel, and she stood grinning at Brian like she was about to have her school picture taken.

‘Wow Brian… she is a great actor,’ agreed Aunt Cathy, thrusting her hands into her pockets.

Brian nodded with relief they were finished and quickly made his way into the driver’s seat.

‘Well, better be off then,’ said Brian.

Fumbling for the keys in the ignition that he couldn’t seem to grasp, Brian stopped and looked down by the steering wheel to see that there weren’t any keys. He opened the door.

‘Didn’t you say you saw the keys in the ignition?’ asked Brian, mystified by the whole situation.

Jezebel shrugged her shoulders. ‘Just acting,’ replied Jezebel.

Brian looked dejectedly at his wristwatch.

‘I didn’t see them in the ignition when I was at the window,’ explained Cathy unhelpfully.

Brian sank down towards his knees. ‘Goodness me. The boys are in a huge game tomorrow,’ said Brian. ‘They only need to draw though.’

He rubbed his eyes. Slowly, he raised himself up with a pleading smile now plastered to his worried face.

‘Hey! I’ve got an idea. You can drive me over to pick up the boys, Cath. It would mean a lot to Pamela and I.’

Aunt Cathy looked perplexed and could say nothing except, ‘Alright.’

Brian leapt towards the garage door and sprinted for the house.

‘What do we do now?’ asked Jezebel.

‘We’ll just have to do a little more acting,’ said Aunt Cathy reassuringly.

‘That should be fun,’ giggled Jezebel.

‘Hmm. I don’t know about that. I knew this wouldn’t be easy. Come on!’ said Cathy, taking Jezebel by the hand back to the house.

 

Brian and Pamela tore through the house, opening drawers, lifting cushions, checking the same places twice. From the kitchen table, Cathy and Jezebel sat like two quiet islands in a storm. Cathy’s pockets felt unbearably heavy. She stirred herself a fresh cup of tea, added a little more scrambled egg to her plate, and tried to look as though this were the most ordinary morning in the world.

“Don’t look so sad, Aunty,” Jezebel whispered. “You’re keeping them safe.”

Five minutes later, Brian and Pamela burst back into the kitchen, breathless and apologising as though they’d personally caused a national crisis. Their final desperate rummage produced nothing. Cathy kept eating at a calm, maddening pace, insisting it was no trouble. The slower she ate, the more they apologised.
Brian checked his wristwatch. Then the grandfather clock. Another minute gone.
Pamela finally sat beside her sister and grabbed her hand.

“Cathy. Brian needs to leave now. Now. Or he’ll have to take your car. James and Andrew will miss the plane.”
Cathy fought the urge to surrender and took another mouthful.

“We’d better get going then,” she said lightly. “These eggs are delicious, Pamela.”

“She must be starving,” Brian muttered.

“If James misses the plane, there’s always another one,” Cathy said sweetly. “Can Jezebel come for the drive?”

“Of course,” Brian said, scooping Jezebel up in one frantic motion.

“Dad! Put me down! I’m not ten.”

“Sorry, Jez. Stress.”

Pamela’s mobile rang.
“Yes, Brian’s leaving now,” she told Andrew’s grandmother. “He’s getting in the car as we speak. Yes, I know he’s very late…”

Brian threw himself into the front seat. Jezebel climbed into the back, glancing up at her bedroom window — wondering if she should have brought Tibbar, wondering if their plan would hold.
Cathy started the Beetle and eased down the drive. Brian checked his watch every few seconds. The CD player burst into a lively song, but he only watched the speedometer and the clock.

Bearing’s main street bustled with flower boxes glowing in the cool sunlight. Cathy admired them as she turned onto Becket Street.
Then she braked hard.
A rabbit sat in the middle of the crossing.
“Sorry about that,” Cathy said.
She and Jezebel exchanged a look. Of course. Tibbar.

“Get out of the way, you silly rabbit!” Brian snapped.
Another rabbit hopped out. Then another. And another.
Brian leapt from the car, chasing them in hopeless circles. Within seconds, at least a dozen rabbits of every shape and size were hopping around and on top of the Beetle. Brian placed a white rabbit gently back on the ground, shook his head in defeat, and trudged back to the car.
A scrawny boy emerged from an alley, staring. Cathy and Jezebel burst into laughter. Brian, unable to resist, joined in. He even took photos as rabbits thumped across the roof.
Then a truck approached. The rabbits froze — and hopped away one by one. Tibbar was the last to leave.
“In all my years growing up here, I’ve never seen so many rabbits in Bearing,” Brian said. “Good thing I took photos. Pamela would never believe it. I’ll have to book the boys onto a later flight if I can.” He looked at Cathy. “I’ve never had to do that before.”
Cathy glanced at Jezebel. Jezebel exhaled in relief. Tibbar watched the Beetle pull away and scratched his ear.

They turned into Andrew’s driveway. The boys were kicking a football. They stopped, staring at the unfamiliar car.
“It’s Dad!” James shouted. “What happened?”

“Sorry, boys. I’ll explain on the way.”
They dashed inside, reappearing with bags piled high. Brian helped load them in. They squeezed into the back beside Jezebel.

“Hi Jezebel,” the boys said, flushed with excitement.

“Hi,” she smiled.

“Hi James!” Cathy said, turning around.

“Aunt Cathy! I didn’t see you. Haven’t seen you in ages. How are you? I thought Dad ordered a taxi.”

“I’m great. Do you like my new car?”

“I was just about to say you’ve got new wheels,” James grinned. “But I’ll miss your old Mini.”
Andrew’s grandmother waved from the window as they drove off.

“I’ve had the Beetle nearly two months,” Cathy said. “Do you like the Three Tenors, James?”

“Is that what your dad plays sometimes, Andy?” James asked.

“Yeah,” Andrew said.
Cathy pressed a button and music filled the car.

“Dad, did you hear Andy Knight’s been passed fit to play tomorrow?” James said. “Brilliant news.”

“That’s good for Southampton,” Brian said. “Well, the reason we’re late is because I couldn’t find my car keys.”
The boys leaned in as the Tenors soared.

“To cut a long story short,” Brian said, “Aunt Cathy drove me to get you.”

“Thanks, Aunty,” James said.

“The strangest thing happened on the way,” Brian continued. “We were stopped by a bunch of rabbits on the crossing.”

“Rabbits?” James laughed. “Surely not.”

“I kid you not. They were all over the car. One sat right there looking straight at me,” Brian said, pointing to the exact spot on the bonnet. The boys collapsed into hysterics.

“You’re making this up,” Andrew laughed.

“Really, Sis?” James asked, sceptical.

“Afraid so,” Jezebel said, though her voice carried a tremor.

“I knew you boys wouldn’t believe me,” Brian chuckled. “That’s why I took photos!”
He held out his phone. The boys howled even louder.

“Are you sure this wasn’t photoshopped?” Andrew teased.

“No time for that,” Brian said.

Cathy, meanwhile, felt a warm wash of relief. The boys were safe. That was all that mattered. Brian, oblivious to the orchestration behind the morning, chatted endlessly with the boys about tomorrow’s match. Jezebel listened to the music, giggling at her father’s enthusiastic instructions.
Fifteen minutes later, they turned into the airport and — miraculously — found a parking spot right at the entrance.

“Well done, Cath!” Brian said. “I never get a park this close.”

Everyone helped carry the boys’ bags toward the sliding doors. A departures announcement chimed overhead — and then, stepping out into the sunlight as though summoned, was Andy Knight himself. Southampton’s finest. One of the Premier League’s greats.

“Andy Knight!” James gasped, stumbling back.

“Hey up!” Andy laughed. “Sorry, lads. Just looking for my lift. Not here yet. How’s it going? Keeping out of trouble?”

“Trying to, Andy,” Andrew said.
Brian stood back, glowing. His boys meeting their hero — nothing could top it.

“We’re looking forward to tomorrow’s game,” James said.

“Yeah,” Andy nodded. “Should be interesting. Keen to be back. Top-of-the-table clash, hey?”

“We’ll be hoping for another win,” Andrew grinned.

“For my team, I hope,” Andy shot back. The boys cracked up.
Cathy leaned close to Jezebel. “We’ll check the departure times,” she whispered, tugging her gently through the crowd.

“That’s why Tibbar wanted us late,” Jezebel said, breathless with understanding. “It makes sense now.”

“I think so?” Cathy murmured, still unsure.

“They’re both huge fans of his,” Jezebel said. “It’s amazing, really.”

“It’s nothing to do with a plane crash?” Cathy asked.

“No. James talks about Andy Knight nonstop,” Jezebel said. “This is Tibbar’s gift.”

Back at the entrance, Andy eyed the boys’ pullovers. “Where are you off to? Those under-seventeen national kits?”

“Well spotted,” Brian said, unable to hold back. “They’re off to play the USA in a schoolboy under-seventeen international.”

“Yeah? That’s terrific,” Andy said. “I’m impressed. And you are…?”

“Brian York,” Brian said, shaking his hand. “This is my son James and his friend Andrew Castlehead. I’m also a big man — fan — of yours.”

Andy laughed. “Pleasure, Brian.”

Brian flushed. “The pleasure’s all mine.”
Andy chatted with the boys about their positions, offered a few pointers, signed their shirts, and posed for photos. He was as generous off the field as he was brilliant on it.

“Excuse me, Andy,” Cathy said gently.

“Sure thing, Miss,” Andy replied, answering his ringing phone.

“Brian!” Cathy called.

“Cathy?”

“The boys can still make their plane. It’s been delayed nearly twenty-five minutes. If we hurry, they’ll get on.”

“That’s another stroke of luck,” Brian said, energised. He grabbed the bags, and they all waved goodbye to Andy as his limousine pulled up.

Brian led the charge to check-in. The boys were rushed straight through to the gate. They only had time for a quick wave to Cathy and Jezebel before disappearing down the jet bridge.

“Sorry you won’t get to see James play, Daddy,” Jezebel said, taking his hand.

“Thanks, baby,” Brian said, lifting her into his arms.

“Dad.”

“Yes, Jez?”

“I’m nearly thirteen. I’m too old to be carried.”

“Right. I’ll try to remember.”

“That was so embarrassing,” Jezebel groaned.

+

“Did you get them there on time, Brian?” Pamela called, stepping out to greet them, worry written all over her face.

“No need to worry, Pam,” Brian said, stepping triumphantly away from the passenger door. “They made the plane! And look at this!”
He held out his phone. Two photos: Brian, James, Andrew — and Andy Knight.

“Oh my goodness,” Pamela gasped, hand to her mouth. “That’s Andy Knight! Andy Knight! The boys must have been beside themselves.” She tapped Brian’s arm. “You would have been beside yourself.”

“Yes… so much so that I told him I was a big man of his instead of a big fan.”

Pamela, Cathy, and Jezebel burst into laughter.
“Oh, Brian, really?” Pamela said, giving him a playful tap and a side hug. She and Brian turned to Cathy and Jezebel, relief softening their faces.
“Thanks again, Cathy,” Pamela said.

“And Tibbar,” Jezebel whispered — a little too loudly for Cathy’s comfort.

“Happy to help,” Cathy said, waving away the gratitude. The keys in her pockets felt like bricks. Now she just had to figure out how to return them.

“And how are you feeling, Jezebel?” Pamela asked, still worried about the sleepwalking.

“I feel great. Really,” Jezebel said.

“She looks good,” Brian agreed. “Don’t forget, Cathy — Doctor Hooper’s coming at three. Shall we go in?”

“Soon,” Pamela said. “Here you are, coming all the way down here for us, and straight away you’re back behind the wheel and off to the airport. There’s a tip in this somewhere.”

“Thanks,” Cathy said.

“I remember when you didn’t like Andy Knight,” Pamela said to Brian as he opened the door.

“That was Wentworth’s doing. He wouldn’t stop complaining about how little talent Andy had. What would he know about young talent, the silly old goose.” Brian held the door for them.

“Are these your keys, Brian?” Cathy asked suddenly, stepping in front of him and dangling the keys right in front of his face.

“My keys!” Brian said, overwhelmed with gratitude. He let the security door slam shut behind him. “Well done, Cath! Did you find them just there somewhere?” He looked at the flower bed.

“Right there hiding in the aster­tians,” Cathy fibbed.

“No wonder I couldn’t find them in the house. Must’ve dropped them while gardening yesterday. Funny — I thought I put them back upstairs…”
He checked the keys, satisfied. Pamela reappeared.
“Oh, thank you, Cathy,” she said, hugging her sister. “I was starting to think we’d need a black taxi to get to the holiday house.”

They both grinned at Cathy, who finally let out a laugh — tension dissolving. Jezebel laughed too. Brian pulled Pamela in for another squeeze, utterly content. It had been a good month.

They all went inside. Pamela put the kettle on while Brian headed upstairs to finish getting ready.
Cathy lifted her jumper and pulled Pamela’s keys from her jeans pocket. With Pamela’s back turned, she tried to slide them under the refrigerator — but her foot hit a piece of sweet potato. She slipped. The keys clattered loudly onto the kitchen table, then bounced off the edge and hit the tiles with a metallic crash.
Cathy and Jezebel froze.
Pamela turned. Her keys lay on the floor.
“My keys! Brian!” she shouted into the intercom. “You found my keys as well, Cath — all in the space of a minute!”

Brian appeared, shaving cream smeared across his face.
“Did you say your keys, darling?” he asked.

“Pamela’s keys,” Cathy said, trying to sound confident.

“Sorted — both sets. Excellent!” Brian said, inspecting them with a proud nod.

“Where were they?” Pamela asked, frowning.

“Behind the magazine rack,” Cathy said — poorly.

“I looked there ten times!”

“They were more underneath,” Jezebel added, moving toward it.

“I looked there two — no, five or six times.”

“No… down in the rack, underneath…” Cathy tried.

“Underneath a magazine,” Jezebel said, running out of runway.

“Oh. I looked on top but didn’t go through the magazines. Is that where you found them, Cathy?”
Cathy nodded, clinging to the story.

“I don’t know how they got there,” Pamela said. For a moment, she didn’t believe them. If there was more to the story, she’d find it later. She always did.

“Well, that solves the mystery of the missing keys,” Brian said cheerfully.
Cathy and Jezebel exchanged a look — their flimsy explanation accepted.

“But it doesn’t solve the mystery of how a dozen rabbits ended up on the roof of your car, Cathy,” Brian grinned.

“Hardly a dozen,” Jezebel muttered.

“Hardly a dozen nothing. Here, Pam — look at these!” Brian handed her his phone. “And that’s not even mentioning how we walked straight into Andy Knight.”
The kettle clicked off, steam curling toward the ceiling.

“A dozen rabbits on your car? Oh really, Brian?” Pamela scoffed.
But then she saw the photos. Rabbits in every pose imaginable. Her mouth fell open. She turned to Cathy.

“Afraid so,” Cathy said, lips pursed.
Pamela struggled to make the tea.
“Where was this again?” she asked.

“Becket Street,” Brian said. “They jumped all over the car. Funniest thing you ever saw.”
Pamela lifted her hand to her mouth and laughed.

“That’s not something you see every day,” Cathy said, hand on hip, finally enjoying the moment.

“Good thing they did,” Brian called from the stairs. “Or the boys would’ve missed hopping into Andy Knight. Not to mention losing our keys. There’s always a reason for these things.”

“There’s a fresh pot of tea for you, Cath,” Pamela said.

“Thanks,” Cathy replied.

“I’m going to get dressed,” Pamela said, heading upstairs, muttering about rabbits, keys, Andy Knight, and sleepwalking.
Cathy and Jezebel sat together, drinking tea and counting themselves very lucky.

 

CHAPTER 4.

The interference of Fariddion.

 

Jezebel and Aunt Cathy waved as the Land‑Rover rolled away toward the holiday unit. Brian gave a cheerful toot of the horn, and then the dust settled and they were gone.
The moment the car disappeared, Tibbar stirred, hopped from Jezebel’s arms, and bounded through the open front door as if he had been waiting all morning.
“Well,” Cathy said, smiling at Jezebel with a kind of relieved triumph. “That went better than expected.”
“Are you kidding?” Jezebel giggled. “We put them through absolute mayhem.”
“What?” Cathy blinked, genuinely unsure. “Are you serious?”
“Maybe a little,” Jezebel admitted. 'A little too much,' she laughed.

Inside, Tibbar was already on the kitchen floor, nibbling another sweet potato as though it had been left there just for him.
“How did you get to the village so fast?” Cathy asked.
“It wasn’t that hard,” Tibbar said, as if that explained everything.
“Anyway, what you did for the boys was lovely,” Cathy said. “Really special.”
Jezebel dropped into a chair with a sigh.
“It took a lot of work keeping those keys from Dad. But we managed.” She eyed Tibbar. “Maybe if you’d told us the exact time we were supposed to walk through the airport doors, it wouldn’t have been so awkward.”
“It was the only way this time,” Tibbar replied.
“Hey… we should have a little party to celebrate,” Jezebel said.
“Later,” Cathy murmured, stretching. “I’ve been dying to read this new book David keeps going on about. I’ve looked forward to it all day. Will you be all right for a while? I need to rest.”
“We’ll be fine,” Jezebel said as Cathy headed upstairs.

She grabbed a juice and went to her room, closing the door behind her. She turned—and yelped. Astar stood right in front of her, clear as sunlight, perfectly still, her expression calm.
“Are you all right, Jezebel?” Cathy called from her half‑open door.
“Don’t tell her I’m here,” Astar whispered.
“Yes!” Jezebel called back. “I’m fine, Cathy.” Cathy’s door clicked shut.
“Why can’t she know?” Jezebel asked, folding her arms.
“I have been asked to bring you back to Fariddion,” Astar said. Her voice held a weight Jezebel wasn’t used to hearing. She looked almost apologetic.
Tibbar hopped beside her. “The Council of Fariddion awaits your presence.”
“The Council? But what about Cathy?”
“Cathy has not been invited,” Astar said gently. Her red‑and‑gold dress shimmered like a living flame.
“How long will we be away?”
“No time will pass here,” Tibbar said.
“You can’t have me lying unconscious again. Mum nearly lost it last time.” Jezebel frowned. “They all did.”
“We agree,” Tibbar said softly. “We did not realise how long it would take for your spirit to readjust to the living earth. Will you come?”
“Well… I suppose so,” Jezebel said, her stomach fluttering.
“The council has granted us special permission to use our tiportal door,” Tibbar said. “You will be whole‑bodied on arrival. Behold.”
Astar opened Jezebel’s closet. Instead of clothes, an intense light poured out—orange and pink clouds swirling like a sky caught in a dream. Astar took Jezebel’s hand, lifted Tibbar, and stepped inside.
“Get ready for a little jump,” she said brightly.
The floor vanished. Jezebel fell for a heartbeat, then slowed, stepping through a cloud‑door into Fariddion. She still held Astar’s gentle hand.
A vast circle of standing stones surrounded a black marble floor. Groups from across worlds and ages gathered: American Indians on horseback, Aboriginal dancers painted for ceremony, a white Australian man dancing with crocodiles, Amazonian tribes in feathered headdresses, Vikings rowing past in wooden vessels. Fire, Water, Earth and Storm rumbled together. Bootum stood with other colourful Angels, Wizards and Witches. Rubbuz approached from afar. Hundreds of people sat around the circle, though Jezebel couldn’t see what they were sitting on. She recognised Mrs Sheen from the Shop of History. How could I ever forget, she thought.
A sudden bloom of colour burst overhead—a supernova unfolding into pinks and blues. Jugglers and acrobats filled the centre. Marine life rose from the black marble. Twenty dolphins leapt together, and Jezebel couldn’t help smiling. Then laughing. A part of her felt at home.

Astar led her to the edge of the circle. Tibbar hopped down. A swirling mass of people and animals—billions—spun around the circle, then faded. Rubbuz finally reached the centre.
“We have a guest from the living earth today,” he announced. “Jezebel York. She has been chosen for her exceptional ability to communicate with us, and for her pure heart. As a younger member of the living earth, she is closer to us by birth. Her acceptance of fantasy and magic is more attuned. And as many of you know, two hundred years have passed since our last guest from the living earth stood among us. A round of applause is deserved.”
Jezebel blushed as the crowd erupted in welcome.
“With the welcome complete, Gamaden will begin our discussion.”
A tall wizard in a golden robe strode forward and struck his solid‑gold staff on the marble.
“Greetings, my fellow Fariddions,” Gamaden said. Voices of approval echoed back. “I am humbled to oversee this meeting. I will now read the question and call for civil and wise debate. Jezebel will be our messenger if this is passed.”
Jezebel stared, stunned.
Gamaden lifted his golden pillar, sending thousands of gold flakes swirling into a ring above the stones.

“I vote for an attack on Harden,” declared a small boy who ran forward with his black‑and‑white dog.
“My dog Archie thinks so too,” he added.

“An attack on Harden is not our way,” said Julie, a woman in a nun’s habit, stepping beside the boy. “My vote is that earth must make its own decisions. There is always a choice between good and evil in life. I vote no interference.”

“I vote interference,” Astar said.
Julie looked shocked.
“I understand Sister Julie’s logic,” Astar continued, “but there is new information about Harden and his followers. I will let Tibbar explain. Very few of you know this, including you, Julie.”
“Yes—what does our friend Tibbar see?” Water gurgled.
Tibbar hopped forward.
“Harden has taken on a form from the living earth,” Tibbar said. “He intends to destroy the living earth by way of nuclear war.”
A wave of alarm swept the gathering.
“He has become one of the advisers involved in the current war in Europe,” Tibbar continued. “His goal is to trigger a nuclear conflict that will kill so many in one day that Fariddion will be overwhelmed by the number of stranded souls arriving at once. The suffering he hopes to create would turn to evil. With so much misery, Fariddion could fall.”

Another roar of outrage thundered through the circle. Gamaden, tears in his eyes, called for silence.
“Thank you,” he said. “Tibbar… are you certain of this?”

“It is, unfortunately, the truth,” Tibbar said. He hopped back to Astar’s side.
“Interference is my vote,” said a short man of Chinese appearance named Mencius, dressed in blue robes and a black hat. Beside him stood a taller man with long black hair, Mozi, his robe falling in quiet folds.
“Nuclear war is the final war,” Mozi said slowly. “For centuries the living earth has been shaped by the choices of men… and now women too. Shared authority has grown, yet peace has not followed. Whether man or woman, the choice for right or wrong rests in the individual heart.”
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.
“Leaders of the living earth are often shaped by ambition rather than service. Institutions mould them. Influence surrounds them. And Harden has learned to twist these weaknesses. Without our interference, he may succeed. We must stop his hand from altering the living earth’s history.”

A jester cartwheeled into the centre, laughing. “We all know the errors of earth’s ways. We could talk about them for another two hundred years. No interference!” He somersaulted into the splits, and the gathering laughed despite themselves.
Mozi smiled faintly at the acrobatics, then continued. “Their systems can be manipulated. Their fears exploited. Harden has tapped into this. We must at least stop him. He has no right to shape the living earth’s fate.”

“Storm, Fire, Water and Earth say interfere,” Storm announced, floating forward. His presence always held Jezebel still. “We cannot manage the terror of billions of souls arriving at once. World wars, asteroids, volcanoes — we have endured them. But this? This is beyond our knowing.”
His voice deepened, rumbling like distant thunder.
“Harden is from our plan. He must be stopped.”

“I call for interference as well,” said Diamond, stepping forward in her red robe.
Storm drifted back to join the other elements.
“I am new to Fariddion,” Diamond said softly. “My concerns may seem raw. But I sense a growing fear in the living earth — a stubbornness, a grasping at control. They tamper with the fundamentals of life: identity, health, war, climate, history. Their methods feel reckless. Their unity fragile. They may follow Harden without realising it.”
“They are always divided,” called Willder, the black witch. “Let them be what they will. But Harden? Interfere.”
“I agree,” said the Purple Prince, rising with a graceful sweep of his robe. “As long as the living earth’s path remains natural and not forced by those who hunger for power. People still create beauty. They still sing, dance, question, love. But greed gnaws at the edges of their world. Harden feeds on that. Interference. End him.”
He slid back into his seat.

A deep, resonant song filled the circle. Bluey rose from the black marble, its massive tail steadying its form. Jezebel could not understand the whale’s language, but the sound wrapped around her like a memory from before she was born. Bluey fell silent, watching her with ancient eyes.

A jade‑coloured wizard stepped forward, leaning on a staff carved from solid jade.
“Jaden will speak,” Gamaden announced.
“Thank you,” Jaden said. “This meeting feels clear‑minded. This is not merely a vote for interference. It is a decree. Harden must be banished. Tibbar, Astar, Elvin and Karen could carry out this order in Japan. Perhaps destiny has brought us to this moment.”
“That is for another time, Jaden,” said Ynnus, the Good Green Witch of de‑Meath. She rode forward on her great black Percheron, Petronilla. Her long green hair shimmered like leaves in sunlight.
“There was nothing we could do when my sisters and I were sentenced to death,” Ynnus said softly. “Burned and drowned by fear and lies. We will never accept such cruelty again. Harden brings death for power’s sake. End him, and the Stranded will scatter. Their sickness for control will trouble us no more.”
She stroked her horse’s mane. “Let this be the moment we restore balance.”
“Agreed,” Jaden said, stepping back. “Banish him. His disappearance will scatter the Stranded into oblivion.”

The black marble rippled. The Sphinx rose, vast and ancient. Ynnus guided Petronilla aside.
“For eons they have prayed to us,” the Sphinx said. “For food, for protection, for love. Time has led them to follow gods both true and false. Yet still they look upward.”
Its golden eyes glowed.
“Wisdom is a seed waiting for rain. Many die waiting. But Harden seeks to scorch the desert itself. A part of me wishes to swat him like a fly upon my sands. Banish him. Let him wander in nothingness for ten thousand years, until even the memory of violence leaves him.”
The Sphinx lifted its gaze to another supernova blooming overhead, then sank back into the marble.

“Please,” said a young voice. Troy, the boy wizard, stepped forward, his face bright with earnestness. “Stop Harden.”
He took a breath, gathering courage.
“The living earth has created such great minds. Michelangelo, Leonardo, Vermeer. Builders like Brunelleschi and Wren. Thinkers like Shakespeare, Confucius, Aristotle. Explorers, navigators, healers. So many are here with us today.”The council smiled, some pretending to clap, delighted by him.
“And the astronomers,” Troy continued, glowing. “Galileo, Sagan, Einstein, Armstrong. The moon is shared. The earth is shared. Cultures grow from the soil beneath their feet. Art, music, stories — all of it belongs to the living earth.”
He looked around the circle, his voice softening.
“Most people are good. Most have something special inside them. Not every seed grows, but every seed is worth planting. Harden wants to burn the whole forest. Please… stop him.”
He bowed. “Thank you for letting me speak. Bye.”
The council applauded warmly.

“I am glad the calling of the council is a rare event,” Gamaden said. “Such matters weigh heavily on us. We want the living earth to be happy. To have abundance. To succeed. In time, we hope none feel stranded. But it is not that place. We take their fears and burdens when they arrive.”
His voice deepened.
“But Harden… if he has chosen to interfere with the living earth’s history, he must be banished. Without him, his followers may return to wandering old halls and forgotten castles. I sense the council’s will. This is no longer a vote for interference. It is a vote for banishment.”
He lifted his staff. “I will waste no more words. We must act.”
A hush fell over the circle. Jezebel felt Astar take her hand and guide her gently toward the centre.
“It is our decision to—” Gamaden began.

A roar of an engine shattered the silence.
A sleek red sports car shot between the standing stones like a streak of fire, drifting and sliding with impossible precision. It zigzagged past Ynnus, skimmed by Troy, slipped around Sister Julie, wove between Mencius and Mozi, and screeched to a halt—its bumper tapping Gamaden’s golden staff with the softest click.
Gamaden didn’t flinch.
“Glad you could join us, Elvin,” he said dryly, pulling his staff back.
A tall, handsome young man with styled dark hair leapt from the driver’s seat. Black leather, easy confidence, a smile that could light a room.
“Sorry I’m late, everybody,” Elvin said, grinning.
A woman stepped from the passenger side — shorter, sharp‑eyed, warm‑smiled, dressed in white leather. Her dark hair brushed her shoulders. She took in the council with calm intelligence, then strode straight to Jezebel and shook her hand.
“Hey man, I’m Karen,” she said brightly. “I’m your protector on this journey.”
“Her and I both,” Elvin added, raising an eyebrow. He turned to Gamaden, smoothing his hair. “So… what’s the verdict, man?”
Gamaden sighed and brushed a little gold dust off the car’s hood.
“As I was saying — nice car, by the way.”
“Thanks,” Elvin said, pleased.
“And as I was saying,” Gamaden continued, raising his voice, “the vote is for the banishment of Harden!”
Steady applause rippled through the council.
Elvin clicked his fingers. “Alright.”
“However,” Gamaden added, “as Jaden requested, this decree is against Harden alone. The living earth remains free‑willed.”
Jaden nodded and stepped back. The council began to disperse.
“What do you think of the plan, Jezebel?” Elvin asked.
“She doesn’t know yet,” Karen said. Astar giggled softly.

“That is correct,” Astar said. “Tibbar and I still need to explain how she will help.”
Elvin nodded, slipped an arm around Karen, and headed back to the car.
“We’ll see you later, little lady,” he said, pointing at Jezebel.
Karen hopped lightly over the car, landing with a click of her boots. “Bye, Jezebel. Like he said.” She pointed at Elvin, then slid into the passenger seat. The windows were so dark Jezebel could barely see inside.
“She has a big smile, doesn’t she?” Jezebel said.
“Hmm. Very,” Astar agreed as the car vanished in a streak of red.
“So… what is the plan?” Jezebel asked.

“All will be revealed in the living earth,” Tibbar said. “We should return now. It is still unclear how long your body can safely remain in Fariddion.”
“Very well. Bye, everybody!” Jezebel called.

The council smiled and waved their farewells.

A moment later she stepped out of her closet. Astar waved once before the door shimmered back into ordinary wood and clothes.
Jezebel ran and dove onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling with a dizzy, glowing smile. Wonder spun through her mind. And something else — a new awareness settling gently inside her.
She had a talent.
It had always been James who had the talent.
But now… she did too.
And for the moment, she could tell no one but Cathy.

 

CHAPTER 5

DOCTOR HOOPER

 

It was late afternoon when Jezebel awoke to the sound of the front doorbell. Brian had programmed it to play the first four bars of Beethoven’s Ode to Joy. She heard Cathy heading downstairs, followed by a familiar voice.
Doctor Hooper.

“Jezebel!” Cathy called. “Doctor Hooper is here to see you!”
Jezebel hurried to the top of the stairs. “Hi, Doctor. I’ll be down in a minute.”
“Very good,” he smiled.

Cathy handed him a cup of coffee just as Jezebel entered the kitchen.

“Ah… I hear you were a little Rip Van Winkle this morning?” Doctor Hooper said, taking a sip before laying out his instruments on a clean white cloth.
“No need to take off your top. Just turn around so I can listen to your body clock.”
The stethoscope was cold against her skin exposed between the straps.
“Hmm… alright. Sit down,” he said.
Jezebel obeyed as he carried out a series of tests — blood pressure, reflexes, hearing, eyesight, balance. Cathy watched from the end of the table, hands folded, worry tucked behind her eyes.

“Just as I suspected,” the doctor said at last.
“It is?” Jezebel asked.
“You’re perfectly healthy,” he nodded. “How many times has this sleepwalking happened?”
“Only once… I think,” Jezebel said, trying to sound certain.
“Sleepwalking is a parasomnia —”
“Somnambulism,” Cathy added gently.
“Very good, Cathy,” he smiled. “It can be simple walking or talking, or in rare cases, attempting to drive.”
“Lucky I don’t have a car,” Jezebel muttered, hoping this would end soon.
“It’s more common in children. Brian told me neither he nor Pam sleepwalk. Any falls lately?”
“No.”
“Medication?”
“No.”
“Migraines?”
“No.”
“Alright. I’ll write down my recommendations for your parents.” He scribbled on a notepad. “A set bedtime. Eight hours of sleep. Pam can wake you thirty minutes earlier. Reduce stress. Improve room safety. And a bedroom camera — if you don’t mind your parents seeing what you’re up to at night?”
Jezebel stared at him, horrified.
“Just for now,” he said quickly. “If it continues, we’ll look at further tests.”
He finished his coffee, packed his tools, handed Cathy an envelope, and walked with them to the door.

“Anything you need to tell me, Jezebel? No one harming you at school? Bullies?”
“No, nothing at all, Doctor Hooper. Well… nothing that hasn’t been nailed into place,” she said with a sly smile.
“Nailed into place? Hmm. No ghosts keeping you up at night?” he teased.
Jezebel coughed. “Um… no, Doctor Hooper.” She glanced at Cathy, who was trying very hard not to laugh.
He nodded and left.

They watched him climb into his shiny green Mini Cooper and drive away.

“I need a drink,” Jezebel said, gathering ingredients for a banana milkshake with whipped cream and a strawberry on top. Cathy headed upstairs with her tea. She needed a drink too — a stiff one.

Jezebel slurped her milkshake in three long gulps. Suddenly music filled the house. She ran to the entrance just in time to see Aunt Cathy coming downstairs, dancing to the Beatles. Jezebel grinned. Cathy had surprisingly catchy moves.
“Andy Knight, we did it, we did it! Come on, come on…” Cathy sang, clapping.
Tibbar appeared behind her, hopping in rhythm. Cathy jumped in surprise, then burst out laughing. The three of them danced into the kitchen in a joyful conga line.
Outside, Mrs Jefferies — the next‑door neighbour — approached the house and did what she always did: rudely peered through the kitchen window.
She had previously caught Brian doing all sorts of things:
• stuffing too much chocolate cake into his mouth
• flexing at Pamela
• asleep at the table
• attempting opera
• picking his nose — and mistakenly eating it
But this time, she saw a rabbit leading a conga line.

She froze. Then slowly backed away, walked home, opened her medicine cabinet, counted her pills, lost count, and finally went to bed to dream of dancing rabbits.

Inside, the trio collapsed onto the couch, laughing.
“It still shocks me when Tibbar turns into a real rabbit,” Cathy said.
Jezebel looked away. It hurt that Cathy hadn’t been invited to Fariddion.
“All this frozen food,” Cathy muttered, rummaging through the freezer. “How about pizza for dinner?”
“Sure — but not the super hot one. My tongue was sore for weeks. Vegetarian for me.”
“Got it. I’ll order now.”

She went upstairs to make the call.

When the pizzas arrived, Cathy paid at the door and carried the hot boxes to the table. They each took a slice, pretending they hadn’t eaten in days.
“What’s an early memory you have of Tibbar?” Jezebel asked, closing her box.
“An early memory?” Cathy tapped her chin. “Oh… yes. I’d forgotten this.” Her brow furrowed. “When you were about two… Tibbar warned me not to go near the river.”
Jezebel leaned forward.
“I went anyway, of course. I didn’t really believe in Tibbar yet. It was a hot day, so I went for a swim. But once I was in, the current was far stronger than I expected. It swept me along like a cork. The bank was too high to climb, and parts were collapsing.”
She held her hands close together, remembering.
“I grabbed a large branch near the bank. I was freezing. My dress kept snagging. I was terrified.”
“What happened?” Jezebel asked, wide‑eyed, starting a second slice.
“Well… I cried for help. And then — without dragging this out too long — two dogs appeared on the riverbank. They barked and barked. A moment later, two men with guns came running. They saw me and looked horrified. It was the Wellers.”
“Peter and Paul?” Jezebel asked.

“Thank goodness. Yes,” Cathy said. “They told me after they pulled me out that it was pure luck they found me at all. They’d been following their dogs — who had been chasing a rabbit.”
“Tibbar saved you!” Jezebel gasped, setting down her slice.
Cathy nodded. A fragile sigh escaped her, and her eyes shimmered.
“When they told Dad, he was furious and terrified. And then… on the riverbank, Paul handed me Tibbar. The toy. Said I must have dropped it.” She shook her head softly. “There were no words for how he got there. Or how relieved I was. None. I’d been scared out of my wits.”
“That’s a very scary story,” Jezebel said. “But I’m glad Tibbar was there for you too.”
Cathy sneezed into her handkerchief. “Yes. He certainly was.” She reached for another slice, her eyes bright with memory. “And I’d left Tibbar at home. On the toy box. That same toy box.” She pointed toward Jezebel’s room.
“Hooray for Tibbar!” Jezebel grinned.
“I’ll say,” Cathy laughed. “Pamela was so worried when I got back. Her eleven‑year‑old little sister, soaked and muddy from head to toe. She cleaned me up before Mum and Dad saw. We still got in trouble, of course.”
“What’s wrong?” Jezebel asked gently.
“I told my best friend Veronica about it,” Cathy said, rolling her eyes. “She laughed at me. Told everyone. ‘What an idiot. What an imagination.’ Some best friend.”
She shook her head, then smirked. “Anyway… I crushed her like a fly for that little indiscretion. Mabbit — I mean Tibbar — told me her mum called her Whoopsy.”
Jezebel burst out laughing.
“I still didn’t believe Tibbar was talking to me,” Cathy said. “He never appeared as a real rabbit. Not once.”
“Really?” Jezebel frowned.
“Really. Anyway, after I called her Whoopsy in front of her friends — and said, ‘Why get angry at me? That’s what your mother calls you at home’ — she ran off crying, shouting, ‘How did you find out?’ Jackpot. I’m not a mean person, Jezebel, but I can’t stand bullies. They forgot about my rabbit story after that. And Veronica and I never spoke again. Which was fine by me.”

Cathy took a sip of Shiraz. Jezebel nodded slowly.
“You keep saying he. Do you think Tibbar is a boy?”
“I used to call him Mabbit,” Cathy said. “Mabbit the Rabbit.”
She dabbed her mouth with a napkin.
“Mabbit sounds like a boy’s name. If you think he’s a boy, that’s fine. But his real name is Tibbar. And he doesn’t have anything below,” Jezebel giggled.
Cathy giggled too.
“Maybe that’s just what happens once we cross over,” Cathy said, chewing thoughtfully.
“He doesn’t seem to mind,” Jezebel said. “There — I called Tibbar a he.”
They toasted with their glasses and slices. Tibbar was officially a boy rabbit.
“That was a close call, Cathy. We were proud of how you saved yourself. I have a question,” Tibbar said.
“I’m listening,” Jezebel replied.
“There’s no more to that story,” Cathy said, confused.
“Not that,” Jezebel said. “Didn’t you hear Tibbar just now?”
“Oh. Did he talk? I didn’t hear anything.” Cathy took another bite.
“What would you like to change, if you could?” Tibbar asked.
“Anything at all?” Jezebel asked, her mind racing.
“Yes. Anything,” Tibbar said, hopping onto the table.
“Can I think about it and tell you in the morning?” Jezebel asked, rubbing her chin.
“Yes. Tell me in the morning,” Tibbar said.
Cathy barely noticed. She was still lost in the memory of the river.
“I think I’ll play some guitar soon. If you don’t mind?” she said.
“I don’t mind. I haven’t heard you play in ages,” Jezebel encouraged.

After dinner, Cathy tuned her guitar and began to play. Her voice had grown stronger, Jezebel thought. Tibbar listened too — he had encouraged Cathy to learn guitar when she was young, though she had forgotten that.

When she finished, Cathy placed the guitar back in its case.
“Well, if you don’t mind,” she said, fastening the latches, “the guest room has a spa bath calling my name. And there are nibbles and a tiny bottle of champagne in the bar fridge. Then I’ll watch that romantic movie Pamela told me about. Sound good?”
“You enjoy it, Cathy. You deserve it,” Jezebel said warmly.
“Really?” Cathy asked, touched.
“Of course. There’ll be plenty more adventures to tire you out tomorrow,” Jezebel laughed. “We’re just getting started.”
“Oh. Well in that case,” Cathy smiled. “My guitar is firmly back in its case. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” Jezebel said.
Cathy hurried upstairs to run the bath.

Later, as she lay in bed, she wondered if Tibbar might help her with the terrible state of her finances. Cathy rarely let anyone know about her struggles. She kept her cards close to her chest.

 

CHAPTER 6

ONCE AROUND THE WINDMILL

 

 

In the morning, Aunt Cathy impatiently called Jezebel down for breakfast. As Jezebel entered the kitchen, she noticed gentle rain drifting down the windowpane. She shared a small smile with Aunt Cathy and sat beside Tibbar at the table. She felt a little tired, especially compared to Cathy, who was bright‑eyed and fully awake.
“Good morning, Jezebel!” Cathy beamed.
“Good morning,” Jezebel yawned.
“Well, I suppose there was no sleepwalking last night?” Cathy teased.
“No,” Jezebel giggled. “You’re up early, Tibbar?” she added, rubbing her eyes.
“It’s good getting up early,” Tibbar said simply.
“Hmm. So what are we going to do today?” Jezebel asked, looking at him.
Cathy said nothing. She wondered what Tibbar was about to do for Jezebel.
“What did you decide you would like to change today?” Tibbar asked, grooming his fur.
Cathy sipped her tea quietly, listening.
“I think I’d like to change what happened to me at school last month,” Jezebel said.
“What happened?” Cathy asked, setting her sister’s Royal Albert teacup gently onto its saucer.
“When I was at school…” Jezebel hesitated. “I wasn’t going to tell you. I asked Mum and Dad not to tell you.”
“Oh,” Cathy said softly. She leaned over and placed a comforting hand on Jezebel’s shoulder. “You can keep it between you and Tibbar if you want.”
“No. Not anymore,” Jezebel said, rubbing her face. “I tore my dress at school. It caught on a nail when I stood up from a bench at morning tea.”
“Oh, that’s terrible,” Cathy said.
“It was really bad. Millie Clannery yelled it out for everyone to hear. She’s such a cow— I shouldn’t say that.”
“Jezebel,” Cathy laughed.
“But she is. I don’t like her. I had to wear three safety pins to keep it together. I was so embarrassed.” Jezebel winced. “Kids still pull at my dress and tease me about it nearly every day. They’re not being mean… it’s just super annoying.”
“Would you like that not to have happened?” Tibbar asked.
Jezebel snapped out of her embarrassment and stared at him.
“Of course. Could you do that?” she asked hopefully.
“Could you, Tibbar?” Cathy echoed, astonished.
“Yes,” Tibbar said.
Cathy stared at him, stunned. She had never heard him say something like that.
“When can we do it?” Jezebel pleaded. “Today?”
“Now, if you wish,” Tibbar said.
“All right. Can I have breakfast first?” Jezebel smiled.
“I will wait,” Tibbar nodded, cleaning his long ears.

Jezebel poured herself cereal and ate happily. Cathy stayed quiet until she couldn’t hold it in.
“How on earth are you going to do that?” she asked, trying to sound calm.
Tibbar didn’t answer. He simply watched Jezebel eat.

Cathy made herself another cup of tea. Jezebel hummed as she finished breakfast, ignoring Cathy’s weather commentary entirely.

“I’m ready!” Jezebel announced, placing her bowl in the dishwasher.
“Good. Then let us return to that day,” Tibbar said, raising a paw.

Cathy squeezed her eyes shut. Nothing happened.

“We will need your car, Cathy,” Tibbar giggled. “Because that’s how we’re going to get there. This time.”

Cathy and Jezebel opened their eyes.
“I did wonder,” Cathy laughed nervously.

She buttoned her brown suede jacket, locked the front door, and followed Jezebel to the car. Tibbar hopped effortlessly into the back seat.
The engine started, and they rolled down the driveway.

“Turn left,” Tibbar said.
“Left, Cathy! Didn’t you hear him?” Jezebel urged.
“No, sorry,” Cathy frowned.
She turned left. At the next intersection, Tibbar spoke again.
“Turn right.”
“Okay, I heard him that time,” Cathy said, turning the wheel.

Ahead stood the old windmill beside the narrow river, its torn sails still reaching for wind they could no longer catch. Leaves drifted against them like quiet reminders of seasons past.
Cathy drove along the rough path toward it, excitement building in her chest.
She stopped beside the windmill.
“It should be fine,” Tibbar said. “Follow me slowly around it. When we come fully around, we will be in the day Jezebel wants to change.”

Cathy gripped the steering wheel. She wasn’t sure if she was smiling or trembling.
“Should we do this, Jezebel?” she whispered, eyes fixed ahead, lost somewhere in her own childhood.
“Let’s go,” Jezebel said.
Cathy pressed the accelerator gently. The yellow Volkswagen convertible crept forward, following Tibbar’s steady hops.
At first Cathy felt determined. Then dizzy. The windmill seemed to stretch taller. Jezebel looked paler. Tibbar hopped on, unbothered.
Cathy caught her reflection in the rear‑view mirror — faint, almost transparent. The music on the CD slowed to a single long note… then stopped.
They both jumped as the entire album suddenly played backwards in seconds at full volume.

Tibbar stopped hopping. Jezebel opened the door and he hopped into the back seat.
Cathy switched on the air‑conditioning and drove back toward the bitumen road. She pressed the eject button — the CD was gone. It was back in its case from three weeks ago.

Still disoriented, she squinted ahead.

Brian was washing the Land Rover.
“Why is Brian home? They’re not supposed to be home until later,” Cathy said, slowing.
“Don’t stop!” Tibbar warned.
“Why?” Cathy asked.
“Because we are passing through a day that happened three weeks ago.”
Cathy let out a muffled scream.
“Oh my goodness! It’s the ninth of October! Again! Jezebel, it’s true! We’ve gone back in time!” she cried — terrified, thrilled, overwhelmed.
She sped past the house.
“Oh my… I hope he didn’t see us,” Cathy said.
Brian looked up, annoyed at the speeding car.
“Can they see us, Tibbar?” Jezebel asked, turning to him.
“Yes.”
“Good question,” Cathy muttered. “We can get back… can’t we?”
“Yes. When we return to the windmill. Do not worry. Drive to Jezebel’s school.”

They entered the village. Everything looked the same, yet dimmer — like a memory still forming.
Cathy slowed suddenly. A red sports car was parked in the middle of the road.
A woman in white leather stepped out, sunglasses on, and walked straight to Jezebel’s window. She tapped on the glass.
Cathy lowered it.

“Can we help you?” Cathy asked.
“Hi ya, Jezebel!” Karen beamed.
“Wow!” Jezebel grinned. “Karen! How did you find me?”
“Tibbar told us where you’d be. Hello. You must be Aunt Cathy? I’m Karen — Jezebel’s friend.”
“Oh yes,” Cathy said, taking in Karen’s tight white faux‑leather outfit and the large metal‑rimmed sunglasses that barely hid her intense brown eyes.
A tap on Cathy’s window made her jump. She lowered it to find a cool‑looking man in black leather and dark sunglasses.
“Hello, ma’am. My name is Elvin. I’m a friend of Jezebel’s. If you’d like to park your car just over there, we have something Tibbar would like us to help you with.”
Cathy stared at him, speechless. She turned to Jezebel for reassurance.
“Where do you know…?” Cathy began.
“Elvin, ma’am,” he said politely.
“Yes… and…?”
“Karen,” Karen said brightly.
“Park the car, Cathy,” Jezebel said.
“Right,” Cathy nodded.

Once the yellow Beetle was safely parked, Jezebel carried Tibbar out, and Cathy joined the group standing outside a shop.

“This is the place,” Elvin said, hands on hips, looking up at the sign: Bet‑Fred.
“What are we going to do here?” Cathy asked.
“Come on, gal. I’ll show you,” Karen said, taking Cathy by the arm and leading her inside.
The shop was full of television screens showing horses racing around various tracks. After a moment, Elvin handed Karen a betting slip. She filled it out and passed it to Cathy.
“Come on, you,” Karen smiled.

They walked to the counter. Karen fed the slip into the machine.

“That’s twenty pounds, Miss,” the attendant said.
“Well go on, Cathy. Give the man the money. I don’t have any English notes on me. But I could sing a few. La‑la‑la,” Karen teased.
Cathy opened her purse. Only one twenty‑pound note. She reluctantly handed it over.
“Right. That should do it,” Karen said, rubbing her hands together and nodding at Elvin.
“You need money, honey, if you want to get along with me,” Elvin grinned.
“I do?” Cathy asked, still unsure.
“Oh sure,” Karen said.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Elvin said gently, taking Cathy’s purse from her floral Gucci bag. He unzipped it, placed the betting slip inside, zipped it again, and tucked it back into her bag.
“Done,” he said.
“But you don’t have to do this,” Cathy said. “I’m getting by.”
“Why not!” Karen said with a flourish.

Karen and Elvin high‑fived and walked out of the shop.
“Goodbye!” Karen waved.
“See you later on, Jezebel,” Elvin said, pointing at her.
“Hang onto that ticket, Cathy. It will be worth money tomorrow,” Tibbar said.
“Really?” Cathy asked, hope flickering in her voice. Even getting her twenty pounds back would be something.

Elvin and Karen were gone by the time they stepped outside. Cathy and Jezebel returned to the Beetle and continued on.
“You can’t stop again on the way to Jezebel’s school, Cathy, or we’ll miss the opportunity to stop her dress from tearing,” Tibbar said.
“Will do,” Cathy said, trying to imitate Karen’s confidence for a laugh.

She turned on the radio. The news from three weeks ago played. Jezebel laughed, remembering the story about a cow wandering into the fruit shop and eating the cabbages.
“How are we going to stop my dress from tearing?” Jezebel asked as the school came into view at the top of the hill.
“There is a hammer and a bag in the cargo area,” Tibbar said. “Take it to the seat and hammer the nail down. Take no more than one minute. Ignore Principal Douglas when he asks what you’re doing. Do not look at him. Come straight back.”
Cathy and Jezebel exchanged a look.
“Did you get all that?” Cathy asked.
“Take the hammer in the bag. Bang the nail down in one minute. Ignore Principal Douglas. Come straight back.”
“Wow, that sounds right. And I do have a small hammer in the cargo area,” Cathy said, parking under a beautiful autumn tree.

She placed the hammer in the bag, walked to the passenger window, and handed it to Jezebel.
“Ready?”
“Yes. I want to do this so much,” Jezebel said.

She hurried across the road and through the school gates.

Students noticed her but said nothing. She walked the long undercover cobbled path, passing full classrooms on either side. At the end stood the dreaded bench.
The nail stuck out an inch — strange, since groundsman Bob had hammered it down last week.
Jezebel pulled out the hammer and began tapping it back in. It was stubborn. The small hammer barely moved it.
“Hello? What do you think you are doing down there?” Principal Douglas called from his upstairs office.
Jezebel nearly turned — but remembered Tibbar’s warning and kept hammering.
“Excuse me?” the principal shouted, louder this time.

Jezebel knew she was only two or three swings away from getting the nail fully in. Principal Douglas, however, had already left his office and was marching downstairs toward the “offending student” in the outdoor eating area.

Just as he reached the door, the school bell rang for morning tea. Students poured out of classrooms. He pushed through them awkwardly, bumping into several in a most undignified scramble.
But the girl was gone.
And though he couldn’t see her now, Principal Douglas wasn’t principal for nothing. He had his suspicions. He headed straight for Mrs North’s classroom.

As Jezebel stepped out with Monica and Stephanie, Principal Douglas appeared in front of them.
“Wait over there a moment, girls. Mrs North? A word, please.”
Mrs North excused herself from her students and approached him.
“Yes, Principal Douglas? You look upset.”
“Why—” he began loudly, then lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. “Why was Jezebel York using a hammer on a bench in the outdoor eating area?”
“When?” Mrs North asked, genuinely surprised.
“Not two minutes ago,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow.
“That’s impossible. Jezebel has been in my classroom the entire lesson. She was reading beautifully to the class only moments ago. She’s an excellent student. Whoever you saw, it wasn’t her.”
Principal Douglas blinked, perplexed. He cleaned his glasses, put them on, and forced a stiff smile.
“Thank you, Mrs North. That will be all.”
He walked past Jezebel without a word, though he noticed her hair was now tied in ribbons. He returned to his office and stared out the window, scanning the grounds for the mysterious hammer‑wielding girl. He knew there wasn’t another student who resembled Jezebel York.
Meanwhile, Jezebel joined her friends in the eating area. When she stood up, her dress remained perfectly intact — even as Millie Clannery walked by.

“I did it!” Jezebel whispered, glowing.
“Yay!” Aunt Cathy clapped, pulling her into a hug. “Can we go home now?”
“Indeed,” Jezebel nodded, exhausted but relieved. “I’m so glad.”
“The deed is done,” Tibbar said. “The torn dress is no more.”
Cathy shifted into gear and indicated onto the road. They drove down into the village, feeling as though the world itself had softened. Everything looked familiar yet touched with a gentle nostalgia — as if the past was brushing against them.

When they passed Jezebel’s house and saw Brian and Pamela cleaning the Land Rover, both Jezebel and Cathy ducked down. Cathy felt grateful she hadn’t told her sister about her new car.

Cathy turned onto the rough, dipping road toward the windmill. Jezebel opened the door and Tibbar hopped out. This time he went to the right of the windmill. Cathy didn’t hesitate — she followed slowly, fingers crossed around the steering wheel.

The heat faded. Colour returned to their faces. The interior of the car sharpened back into focus. The world regained its crispness. When Tibbar completed the circle, Cathy stopped the car.

She stepped out, fell to her knees, and was sick. She shivered as the cool air wrapped around her. The leaves were yellow again — winter approaching.

“Woo!” Jezebel shouted, running once around the windmill. “We did it! We did it! We did it!” She spun around Tibbar several times. “When can we do it again?”
“Oh no. I don’t want to do that again,” Cathy said firmly, rubbing her eyes and reaching for her water bottle.
“Why not?” Jezebel protested. “Tibbar could take us anywhere!”
“Because…” Cathy looked up at the windmill and nearly gagged again. She sat down and stared toward the river.
Jezebel stopped celebrating and sat beside her. For five quiet minutes they said nothing. Cathy sipped her water and poked at the earth with her shoe. Jezebel stroked Tibbar and felt, strangely, stronger than Cathy. For Fariddion, she had to be.

The wind brushed the windmill’s creaking sails. The river drifted slowly toward the sea.
Finally Cathy sighed and looked at Jezebel.

“I was worried we wouldn’t get back,” she said softly.
“It’s understandable,” Jezebel said. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah… this is big, Jezebel. And it’s happening to us.”
“That’s true,” Jezebel nodded. “It’s massive. And you know, Cathy… you’re going to need all that adventurous spirit of yours for what’s coming.”
“Okay…” Cathy said, standing slowly. She stretched her arms high, lowered them, breathed out — and coughed.
“Right. Come on,” she laughed, taking Jezebel’s hand.
Together they ran around the windmill, yelling and laughing with joy.

 

CHAPTER 7

DREAMS COME TRUE

 

The yellow Beetle convertible pulled up outside the York residence.
“Hey, look at this, Jezebel,” Cathy said, pointing at the navigator. “Right day, right time. We’re back!”

They unlocked the front door just as the grandfather clock chimed half past nine. Cathy put the kettle on while Jezebel raced upstairs. Moments later she came flying back down, breathless with amazement.

“Cathy, look!” Jezebel held up one of her school dresses. “The torn dress — it’s not torn anymore!”
“Wow!” Cathy said. “Okay… so it worked. Then—wait.”
She sat at the table, took a sip of tea, and opened her purse. Her eyes fixed on a small piece of paper.
“What’s that?” Jezebel asked, still admiring her perfect dress.
“The ticket. The one Karen filled out and Elvin slipped into my purse.”
Cathy set her cup down and turned to Jezebel.
“To tell you the truth… I’ve barely been managing for the last two years. Too much debt. Bills, holidays, clothes, rent… and now a new car. That’s why I haven’t visited much. The only reason I got the car is because the bank likes that I’ve been with the same publishing company for five years. I can’t really afford it. Brian’s actually paying me to look after you this weekend.”
“Oh…” Jezebel said softly. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Cathy wiggled her finger playfully. “Because this ticket is going to change all that. This is my treasure map. X marks the spot. I’ve been handed the map to the buried chest.” She lifted the ticket above her head, then frowned. “Oh god, I hope so.”
Jezebel smiled.
“Mum and Dad go to the races every few months with Nicole,” she said.
“That makes sense. Nicole’s always been a bit of a gambler. Not me though,” Cathy said proudly.
“Right,” Jezebel nodded.
“Karen made me put twenty pounds on that first four. I don’t know much about racing, but it’s probably worth a few hundred pounds!”
“Wow, that’s a lot,” Jezebel said.
“I can pick it up right now,” Cathy said, staring at the ticket.
Jezebel hugged her dress. “I can’t believe it. I’ll go to school Monday and no one will tease me anymore. Though… I think Fariddion has something in mind for me. I’m not sure what yet.”
“Sorry?” Cathy asked, still thinking about the ticket.
Jezebel pointed at her. “Don’t be sorry.”
“Well, I will be sorry — because I won’t be here later. I have to go home tonight,” Cathy said.
“No… you can’t go home so soon,” Jezebel said, taking her hand. “Please stay one more night.”
“Well, that’s up to your mum and dad. And my boss. But… he owes me months of holiday time.”
“Please. We’re having such a good time.”
“If Pamela and Brian say yes, I can stay one — maybe two more nights.”
“Terrific!” Jezebel beamed.
“Maybe I’ll buy them a little present for all the help they’ve given me,” Cathy said.
“That’s nice. What kind of present?”
“What does your mum like — perfume?”
“She’s got loads,” Jezebel said.
“Shoes?”
“Way too many.”
“Clothes?”
“She always says she has too many to choose from.”
“I can’t think of anything. I’ll think on it.”
“Sure,” Jezebel smiled.
“Ready to go?” Cathy asked, standing.
“I suppose so,” Jezebel said, looking around for Tibbar.
They washed their teacups, glancing out the window to see Tibbar sitting on the roof of the Beetle.
“I couldn’t find you before,” Jezebel said, lifting him down and placing him in the passenger seat.
“Raise the anchor! Unfold the sails!” Cathy declared.
“Aye aye!” Jezebel laughed.

Sunlight warmed the yellow interior as they drove. They passed riders on horses, cyclists, and walkers enjoying the day. Cathy played Llewellyn softly through the speakers.

They parked a little way down from the betting shop. Cathy suddenly felt nervous again — what if something went wrong?

Jezebel carried Tibbar along the damp, sunlit street. She marvelled that no one knew about Fariddion. Tibbar looked like an ordinary toy in her arms, yet he was anything but.
A poster in the window showed a beautiful female rabbit being chased by greyhounds. Jezebel hugged Tibbar closer.
“Well, as long as I get my twenty pounds back,” Cathy said, holding the door open. “It won’t be a total loss.”
Jezebel followed her inside.
“I feel like a fool,” Cathy whispered.
“Why?” Jezebel tugged her jacket.
“Because… it’s just not possible. Is it?” Cathy said, fiddling with her buttons.
“Here,” Jezebel said.
She took the ticket from Cathy’s purse and handed it to her.
“You’ve got to calm down. Whatever will be will be. Just don’t start gambling if you win. Promise?”
“That’s an easy promise. I promise,” Cathy said, taking a deep breath. “Whatever will be will be.”

When the counter was quiet, Cathy approached with Jezebel and Tibbar.
“Good morning,” Cathy said. “I think I might have won on this.”
“Just put it in the slot,” the attendant said, not looking up from his paper.
Cathy held her breath and fed the ticket into the machine. It grabbed it, paused — then played a triumphant tune loud enough for everyone in the shop to hear.
The attendant looked at the screen, blinked, and let out a startled breath.
“I’ll have to call the governor about this,” he said, suddenly alert. He dialled quickly. “John, I’ve got a hot ticket… Yeah, six figures. Yep, three weeks ago. Cup Sunday… Send her through? Righto.”

He opened the side door.
“Straight down there. First door on the left. Thanks, Miss.”
Cathy, Jezebel, and Tibbar walked to the open office door. Cathy knocked.
“Come in!” a man called.
They stepped into a cramped office stacked with boxes, folders, posters, and betting slips. The manager sat with a cheque in hand.
“Hi, won’t take a second,” he said.
They waited in silence.
“Your name, please?” he asked, pen poised, still not looking up.

“Catherine Carrington,” Cathy said, smiling with barely contained excitement.
“I’ve been waiting on a Catherine Carrington for three weeks to claim this cheque,” the manager said. “You won the most money in the whole of the UK that day. What a fluke. Twenty pounds on four noses. Incredible.”

He filled in her name, shaking his head, then handed her the cheque.
“The most in the UK?” Cathy gasped.
“I don’t fib about money with customers, Miss Carrington. And I know it’s yours — look at the screen. Hold on…” He rummaged under a stack of papers and pressed play on a video player. “There we go.”

A short video appeared: Cathy handing over the twenty pounds, Karen and Elvin beside her.
“And in goes the ticket… though you look very faint on the screen for some reason. Day and time match to the second. Back of the net! Boom!” He sipped his coffee. “That’s you alright. And your daughter with the bunny. Biggest payout I’ve ever made from this branch.” He grinned at Jezebel. “Nice bunny. You can feed him lots of carrots now.”
“He likes sweet potato,” Jezebel said quietly.
“Order a truckload,” he chuckled.
Cathy stared at the cheque. The amount was astronomical — far more than she had imagined. Relief and disbelief washed over her. She pressed a hand to her chest.
“You can go. You’re not going to faint, are you?”
“No,” Cathy said, blinking herself back into focus.
“Don’t spend it all at once,” he laughed.
“Thanks. I’ll try not to,” Cathy said.
“Or bet it on the next favourite and double your money,” he winked. “Dead cert for the fifth at Ascot.”
“No thanks,” Cathy said, glancing at Jezebel.
She turned and led Jezebel back to the counter. The assistant opened the door for them.
“Thank you,” Cathy said, dazed.

They passed a man feeding betting slips into a machine and stepped outside.
Cathy half‑collapsed onto a bus‑stop seat.
“Wow. This is crazy, Jezebel,” she said, shaking.
“Did it win as much as you thought?” Jezebel asked.
Cathy held the bus‑stop pole tightly, staring at the cheque. Her life — the next few years of it — suddenly looked different. Manageable. Hopeful.
“I feel a bit guilty,” she whispered.
Then she burst into tears.
Jezebel rushed to her side, rubbing her back.
“Cathy? Has it been that hard?”
“Yes. Sometimes,” Cathy said through tears. “Everything’s so expensive. Big companies don’t care about the stress they cause. Especially for young people. It’s ludicrous. The number of times I’ve wanted to buy a new lipstick, or shoes, or even toiletries — and I couldn’t afford them. Is that right?”
“Well, no it is not right. It does need to change. For now, that’s over for you,” Jezebel said gently.
Cathy wiped her face and looked at the cheque again.
“I never thought it would be so much,” she whispered. “Right… well… now that I’ve bawled that out of my system…” She half‑smiled, dabbing her eyes. “I’d better put this in my account before I lose it. I’ve already lost it in public. Sorry, Jezebel. I didn’t know I’d react like that.”
“Don’t apologise,” Jezebel said.
Cathy blew her nose, took Jezebel’s hand, and headed toward the bank.

“Okay.” She stopped, took a deep breath, and closed her eyes as people walked around her. Then she beamed. “It’s a full chest of gold. Come on — I’ve got to put this in my account. Thank you, Karen! Thank you, Elvin!” She looked up at the sky. “We’ll cross up there!”

They walked toward the crossing as motorbikes rumbled past.
“You’re out of sweet potato at home. Would you buy me some?” Tibbar asked.
“Of course she will,” Jezebel said.
“Of course she will what?” Cathy asked.
“Tibbar wants more sweet potato.”
“Oh. I didn’t hear that. A big bag coming your way,” Cathy said.

They crossed the road, dodged workers doing maintenance, and entered the bank.
After depositing the cheque, Cathy withdrew some cash from the ATM. She stared at the receipt in awe, then tucked it into her purse.
“Done. Let’s have some fun,” she said, setting off down the street.
“What kind of fun?” Jezebel asked.
“God, where do I start? Hmm… here!” Cathy tugged her toward a clothing shop. “I want to buy you a new dress. And I want to buy me a new dress.”
“Cool,” Jezebel said, admiring the colours in the window.

Inside, Jezebel tried on several outfits until she found one she loved — not a dress, but a light blue suede jacket with black buttons and matching pants. She looked at herself in the mirror, glowing. Cathy loved it too.
“Can I wear it now?” Jezebel asked.
“Of course,” Cathy said. The sales assistant removed the tags.
“Do you like this hat on me?” Cathy asked, pulling a silly face.
“I like it,” Jezebel laughed.
“Could you take a photo of us?” Cathy asked, handing her phone to the assistant.
“Lift your bunny a little higher, Jezebel,” the assistant said. Snap.

They paid and left, then walked into a produce store.
“Would you like something to eat?” Cathy asked, paying for a bag of sweet potatoes.
“I’d like orange juice and a packet of chips,” Jezebel said.

They stepped out again.
“Sure you don’t want lunch? It’s nearly twelve,” Cathy said.
“Hmm… in there?” Jezebel asked, pointing to a café. “Mum always takes me there.”
“Yes, your mother says the service is very good.”
Jezebel shook her head and pointed across the road to a Bumberry’s fast‑food outlet.
Cathy grimaced, then laughed.
“Sure, Jez. Anything you want. But guess what?”
“What?” Jezebel asked, holding Tibbar in her new blue outfit.

“I’ve thought of a gift for your mum and dad,” Cathy said.
“Okay,” Jezebel smiled.
“Do you want a ride in that while I pop inside?” Cathy pointed to a miniature fairy‑tale carriage ride.
“I haven’t been in that since I was a child,” Jezebel said.
“You don’t have to,” Cathy shrugged, remembering how only two days ago Jezebel was a child in her eyes.
“No, it’s alright. I’ve wanted to but never said.”
“In you go then,” Cathy smiled.

She dropped a pound coin into the box. With a jolt, the red‑and‑gold carriage began to rock, playing Für Elise. Cathy smiled and slipped inside the shop.
Jezebel giggled as Tibbar came to life beside her, swaying gently with the carriage.

Two boys walked past. The thinner one stopped.
“Hey, Tony, look! It’s one of those rabbits I told you I saw at the crossing!”
Tony turned back as the thin boy reached in to pick up Tibbar.
“Hey! It nipped me!” he yelped, pulling his hand back.
Tony peered in and saw only a girl holding a toy rabbit.
“Sorry about that,” Tony said.
“That’s okay,” Jezebel replied sweetly.
“Will you stop fooling around?” Tony groaned, walking off. “I’m starting to worry about you.”
“But it nipped me!” the thin boy protested.

A moment later, Cathy came outside and watched Jezebel and Tibbar lovingly until the ride stopped.
“Wow, that went for ten minutes?” Cathy asked.
“No. Tibbar started it again. We were having fun,” Jezebel laughed, climbing out in her smart new outfit.
“Shall we eat?” Cathy asked, adjusting her hat in a shop window.

They walked along and came upon a man arguing with a bus driver.
“I don’t have the full fare. Blimey… are you happy now?” he snapped, opening his empty wallet. The driver shut the door.
Cathy tapped on it. It snapped open again.
“Sorry, didn’t see you, Ms,” the driver said.
“Where does he want to go?” Cathy asked.
“London. Ten pounds. His card’s out of credit.”
Cathy handed the man a twenty‑pound note. She didn't know it, but it was the same note she used to buy the ticket in the betting shop.
“Get on,” she smiled.
“Really? Thanks,” he said, climbing aboard.

The driver gave him change and the bus pulled away. Later that day, the man would save someone’s life — because Cathy had helped him.

“Well, that was nice of you,” Jezebel said.
“Thanks. I’ve wanted to do that sort of thing for a while.” Cathy pointed. “Look — a phone store! Time for a new phone. My boss has been pestering me.”
They went inside, bought one, set it up, and left — both hungry.
“Are we ever going to make it to Bumberry’s?” Jezebel teased.
“Sorry. I’m being difficult, aren’t I?”

They finally sat on stools overlooking the busy street, eating hamburgers with vinegar and chips. Jezebel fed Tibbar sweet potato; he nibbled noisily.
“You can’t have pets in the store,” said a large teenage girl in a Bumberry’s cap, pink hair tucked underneath.
“But he’s only a toy,” Jezebel said innocently.
The girl blinked as Jezebel lifted Tibbar to show her.
“Oh,” she said flatly.
“Only a toy,” Cathy teased.
“Then are you making the mess?” the girl glared at Jezebel.
Cathy wanted to defend her — but Tibbar had been making the mess.
Jezebel looked down. The mess was gone. The girl saw nothing. Cathy saw nothing.
The girl wiped the table aggressively — but it was already sparkling.
“Thanks,” Cathy giggled. “Now get back to work.”
The pink‑haired girl bumped Cathy’s shoulder as she passed.
“Sorry,” she giggled mockingly. “What are you looking at?”
Before Cathy could reply, a commotion erupted. A customer crashed to the floor, drenched in burger, chips, sauce, and cherry cola.
“Why didn’t you watch where you were going?” the pink‑haired girl snarled.
The manager rushed out — a small Black woman with a bright smile.
“I’m so sorry, sir. What happened?” she asked.
Cathy and Jezebel watched, stunned.
“This git didn’t watch where he was going,” the girl said. “I’ve lost one of my nose rings!” She swore loudly.
“Nancy?” the manager — Tulsi — scolded. “Apologize now!”
“Not likely. What’s he want, some white privilege?”
Tulsi helped the man up — then froze. His shirt bore a name badge. She wiped away mayonnaise.
It read: John Bumberry.
“You’re not… are you?” Tulsi whispered.
John Bumberry nodded tightly.
“Thank you, Tulsi. I’ve heard good things about you. And it’s true. However, I must insist that Nancy… is… immediately… let go.”

Jezebel swung her legs happily under the bench, watching the street. Cathy swung hers too, feeling lighter than she had in years. She couldn’t wait to start looking for her own apartment — something affordable at last.

They finished eating and left. John Bumberry, now clean and wearing oversized staff clothes, opened the door for them.
“I would have sacked her too,” Cathy said, making him beam.

Jezebel held Cathy’s hand as they crossed the road to collect the presents. The tiny shop was filled with clocks, ceramics, dolls, silver, gold, paintings, jewellery, flowers, and high‑end trinkets. Cathy paid and received a beautifully decorated floral bag.

Jezebel clutched Tibbar as Cathy whisked her out of the shop.

“I guess we should go home now,” Cathy said, whistling. “Unless there’s anything else you’d like to do?”
“What time are Mum and Dad coming back?”
“Early this evening,” Cathy said, though a headache was forming.
“Can I hold Tibbar for a while?” she asked.
Jezebel handed him over.
Cathy cuddled him as they reached the Beetle.
“Shall we take the roof off?” she asked.
“I’ve never been in a car with no roof,” Jezebel said, thrilled.
“Well, we can fix that right now.”

Cathy put on her sunglasses.
“And away we go,” she said, pulling onto the road.
Jezebel looked up at the blue, cloud‑streaked sky. Tibbar stood in the back seat, ears in the breeze. At the end of the street were the two boys and the pink‑haired girl. The thin boy stared at the Beetle — and saw the rabbit’s ears flutter.
Then, impossibly, the rabbit blew him a kiss.

“Did you see that, Tony? Nancy?” he cried.
“What?” Nancy snapped.
“That rabbit waved at me and blew me a kiss!”
Tony groaned. “Enough with the rabbits. You’ve gone rabbit’s.”

Cathy and Jezebel sat quietly as music played. Jezebel leaned back, watching the sky. Clouds curled and vanished near the sun, leaving a brilliant silver lining. A soft sun‑shower misted over the car.
“Don’t worry,” Cathy said. “Just a few drops.”

A rainbow arched across the road ahead. Butterflies drifted past. Sheep grazed in neat formation. Cows and horses moved together in the fields, tossing their heads playfully.
Cathy took the long way home. She didn’t want the drive to end. She felt young — twenty and full of possibility. She glanced at Jezebel and thought how she’d love a daughter like her one day. Pamela was lucky. Cathy didn’t know if she’d ever have a child — but the thought warmed her.

She slowed and turned into the driveway. Leaves blew into the car as she braked and switched off the engine.
“What is it?” Jezebel asked.

Cathy sat still, listening to the birds. Frogs chirped near the pond.
“I’m just enjoying the feeling,” she said, watching the weeping willow sway in the unseen wind.

“One thing Astar told me in Fariddion is that they don’t use money there,” Jezebel said.
“They’re lucky,” Cathy murmured. “And that’s where Elvin and Karen come from, right? Fariddion?”
“Yeah,” Jezebel nodded.
“I think I would like Fariddion,” Cathy said softly.

 

CHAPTER 8

CATHY GOES TO FARIDDION

 

 

Cathy locked the door behind them as they ambled into the kitchen.
“How about a bike ride?” suggested Jezebel.
“What a good idea. It’s so flat around here,” approved Cathy.
“Good,” Jezebel smiled.
“I’ve got to get changed first though,” said Cathy.

They went upstairs to get ready.

After about twenty minutes, Jezebel came downstairs dressed in comfortable shorts and a long black long‑sleeved T‑shirt that read Witches and Wizards. Aunt Cathy was still in the bathroom getting changed.

“What do you think about going for a bike ride?” Jezebel asked Tibbar, who sat quietly on the kitchen floor.
“Should be fun. Do you know what else is fun?” asked Tibbar.
“No, what else is fun?”
“Mrs Jefferies is watching us through the kitchen window again.”
Jezebel spun around. Mrs Jefferies’ nose was pressed flat against the glass, staring in.
“Maybe I’ll just dance on the table for her,” giggled Tibbar.
“Or you could drink some tea while holding your saucer,” laughed Jezebel.
“Or I could float up into the air and come back down again,” said Tibbar.
Jezebel couldn’t stop laughing.
“Or you could disappear,” she suggested.
“That’s a good idea. I’ll disappear,” said Tibbar.
“No! Please drink some tea!” Jezebel pleaded.
“Very well.”
Tibbar hopped onto the table, picked up the pot, and poured himself some tea.
“One sugar please?” he said.
Jezebel quickly dropped a sugar cube into his cup.
“Milk?” she asked, catching a glimpse of Mrs Jefferies’ mouth falling open.
“Just a spot please,” nodded Tibbar.

Mrs Jefferies let out a muffled noise of shock.
“What’s so funny?” called Aunt Cathy from the guestroom upstairs.

Mrs Jefferies stumbled back from the window and hurried away, muttering about her doctor. The new pills he’d given her were meant to stop hallucinations, but she was now convinced they were making things worse. She also decided she would never look through their kitchen window again.

Aunt Cathy came downstairs wearing an unzipped white cardigan over a green floral T‑shirt, white shorts, and pumps.

“Ready?” she asked with a smile. “What have you been laughing at?”
Cathy froze at the sight of Tibbar and Jezebel drinking tea together.
“Mrs Jefferies just watched us having our tea party. She was peeping in through the kitchen window,” explained Jezebel, rubbing her nose.
“Oh, Mrs Jefferies,” Cathy sighed. “She’s been looking through that window forever.”
“Don’t worry, Cathy, no harm’s been done. If anything, she’ll now be going to a doctor who’s better suited to her needs.”
Aunt Cathy burst out laughing. “You can be naughty and giving at the same time, can’t you, Tibbar?”

She followed Jezebel out to the garage. Jezebel unlocked the door and they wheeled out two bikes: Jezebel’s blue one with a basket on the handlebars, and Pamela’s red mountain bike. Jezebel had once wanted to remove the basket, but with Tibbar now sitting proudly inside it, that wasn’t likely to happen anytime soon.
The bikes were in good condition and the tyres full of air as they set off. They bumped over the pebbles before rolling through the open gate. Jezebel led the way, pedalling toward the woodland ahead. The cooler weather was coming on quickly, Cathy thought, as the sun caressed her pale skin. She stopped pedalling for a moment and breathed deeply. The warmth on her face felt glorious.

“Isn’t this a glorious day, Jezebel?” she beamed.
“Yes. It’s still the best week of my life,” Jezebel said, glowing.

Where the woods began, they turned right. An old road stretched west as far as they could see. They continued along it with the trees on their left and the cleared old farming land—partially York land—on their right. Bird calls of different pitches echoed sweetly from within the trees.

After a minute the dirt road sloped downward, and they could now steer without pedalling. The bikes picked up speed until, with some relief, the road levelled out again. They pedalled up to a narrow path leading into the woods and came to a stop.

“Let’s go in here,” said Tibbar.
“How are you going, Jezebel? Need a rest yet?” asked Aunt Cathy, standing over her bike.
“Hardly. I’m fine,” Jezebel replied. “Let’s go in here.”

“Looks kind of cool,” decided Aunt Cathy, feeling the chilled air wafting out from beneath the large trees. Tibbar’s ears twitched at the layered forest sounds.

Jezebel pushed off and pedalled into the woods. Cathy followed at an easier pace.
Inside, the light changed. The autumn sun barely pierced the canopy, scattering only thin dapples across the path. Several small wrens chirped frantically as they flitted along beside Jezebel. A tawny owl hooted from somewhere deep within.
Without warning, Tibbar leapt from the basket and bounced alongside Jezebel, stopping every so often before catching up again.

They followed the winding path until it split in two. Jezebel paused, but Tibbar hopped straight ahead and took the left fork. Jezebel and Cathy followed.

When they caught up, Tibbar was waiting.

“Leave your bikes here. Come.”

They set their bikes aside and stepped onto the firm, leafy ground. Tibbar sprang excitedly from the high bracken.

They entered a small clearing where three enormous old trees stood like guardians. No bracken grew here. The ground was soft with moss, and toadstools of many shapes and colours clustered or stood alone. Long‑tailed blue butterflies bobbled through the shafts of sunlight that fell between the trunks.
Jezebel thought she could hear music now — faint, beautiful.

Tibbar hopped to the centre of the clearing and became still.

Jezebel sat, a little breathless from the ride.

“I am asking someone to come and meet you, Cathy,” said Tibbar.
Aunt Cathy looked at Jezebel in wonder. She moved to the edge of the mossy circle and sat gently beside her.
Her gaze fell on a single toadstool. She saw herself lift it from the earth — and as she did, a light‑headedness washed over her. Darkness thickened. The trees rustled as, close by, a gatekeeper prepared the joining of two worlds.
The gatekeeper was invisible, but his large wooden staff — five feet high, coated in a mass of black feathers like coarse hair — began to shake, sounding like a flat tyre thumping on a fast‑moving car. The branches of the three English oaks swayed in response.
Tibbar opened his mouth and produced a rising sound — a strange, small howl that lengthened into a gentle, sustained note. To Jezebel and Cathy it seemed to last a very long time.

Slowly, Tibbar’s voice and the trees settled.

Suddenly Sitting Wolf stood before them, holding the feathery staff. He smiled — and vanished.
Then Bootum appeared, dressed in her brightest yellow. She smiled lovingly at Aunt Cathy.
“I am also with you, Cathy,” said Bootum, and faded away.
Astar appeared next.
“It’s Astar!” Jezebel beamed. “She’s my guide.”
“Tibbar wanted to introduce me to you, Cathy. I am Jezebel’s guide,” Astar said warmly.
“Hello,” Cathy replied softly.
“Time does not exist in Fariddion. I come from a time when the lands were together.”
Astar studied Cathy.
“Your face is sweating,” she observed.
Cathy touched her cheek. She was perspiring.
“There is no sweating in Fariddion,” giggled Astar.
“Tibbar, Elvin and Karen were very helpful to you, Cathy,” Astar added, standing motionless as Cathy blushed at the memory of the money she had won.
Astar began to move. A tawny owl circled her as she danced.
Jezebel and Aunt Cathy could now hear the soft music of the angels clearly.
“We would like you to visit our party, Cathy,” said Astar. “It is important that you see what Jezebel has seen.”
She turned like a graceful ballerina. Butterflies seemed to dance within her movements.
Tibbar moved with her. Jezebel followed.
“Yes, I’d like to attend,” said Cathy, rising to join them.
Astar danced to the edge of the clearing, then glided back toward the centre. She leapt into the air, slowing as she descended. Sparkles streamed behind her. She began to fade — and so did Jezebel, Tibbar, and Cathy.

The vibration of the trees ceased. Tibbar’s singing fell away. Silence returned. Squirrels scampered down the trunks and played on the moss.

Jezebel took Aunt Cathy’s hand and led her through the giant cloud door behind Astar, who carried Tibbar. Cathy was mesmerised whichever way she turned. Giant standing stones stretched in a long line over and down a hill. She recognised clothing from the 16th century, then the 12th, then the 9th — all woven together in this impossible place.
Jezebel urged Cathy behind one of the stones. Cathy followed — and found herself overlooking a vast, gently sloping hillside. All sorts of people were gathered there. It was the party.
People passed and looked at Cathy with interest. Several fairies fluttered by and squeaked happily at her. She wasn’t sure if they were real.
Cathy ducked instinctively as she noticed a huge full yellow moon hanging dangerously low overhead. Its craters seemed close enough to touch. Jezebel could even see the wind — multicoloured, scented like sweets — drifting past. Shooting stars raced across the sky. Loud horns echoed around the valley. The crowd cheered.
Jezebel turned quickly, taking in the sight of thousands more celebrating on another hill only minutes away. Their distant laughter was pure delight. Halfway down the slope, a large stage held musicians playing exhilarating, impossibly complex compositions. Beyond them, a snow‑capped mountain range glowed with soft pink light.
Jezebel recognised one of the pianists from a CD her dad played often. Beethoven, she remembered. He noticed her, smiled briefly, and returned to the music.
A group of acrobats glided past, flipping and juggling without touching the ground. An old blue steam locomotive chugged along the bottom of the hill with many carriages. Large images shimmered on the sides, showing the passengers having fun inside. One carriage displayed a medieval king and queen pulling exuberant faces. The crowd cheered. The whistle blew.
Astar handed Jezebel a chocolate egg wrapped in purple paper.

“Happy Easter,” smiled Astar.
Jezebel unwrapped the egg and bit into it. Purple sparkles escaped into the air.
Turning to her right, Jezebel saw Aunt Cathy, awe‑struck by the dancers performing their impossibly intricate spectacle. Somewhere in the distance, Cathy could hear Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds being played.

Astar handed Aunt Cathy a chocolate egg wrapped in yellow paper.
“Happy Easter, Cathy,” she said warmly.
Cathy accepted the egg but made no move to open it.

Jezebel noticed a group of animals further up the hill — Elephant, Bear, Rhino, and one that looked like a giant sloth. An enormous creature, slow and dignified.
Jezebel and Aunt Cathy followed Tibbar and Astar down the hill toward a group of people gathered around a fire. They sat with them, though Cathy kept her distance. She could tell the people were speaking without words, but the communication was too complex to follow. A group of dogs and cats raced past, chasing each other joyfully.
Jezebel recognised Sitting Wolf and Bootum among the dozen or so seated figures. They looked content and waved at Cathy before hurrying over.
“Cathy!” beamed Bootum. “Come and join us!”
Aunt Cathy didn’t answer. She was captivated by the elements of Fire, Water, Wind and Earth, which shifted and folded around one another in ever‑changing forms far to her left. Trumpets sounded again, marking some important moment within the celebration.
Cathy noticed there was no arguing, no rudeness, no fighting. Only joy. She felt that she and Jezebel belonged here, even though they looked simple compared to the rest of the gathering.
“Is there anything special you would like to do?” asked Sitting Wolf.
“Ah… I don’t really know,” said Cathy. “I’m a bit—no, a lot—overwhelmed. It’s um… like getting drunk the first time. Like that.”
“Yes, as you wish,” smiled Bootum. She took Cathy’s hand. “Come and sit with us, Cathy.”
Jezebel watched as Cathy was led away to another group.
“So now Cathy knows of Fariddion,” said Astar.
“Yes. She’s happy here,” said Jezebel. “But I think she’s—”
“Not ready?” Astar finished.
“Yes,” Jezebel admitted.
“We have prepared our plan to deal with Harden,” said Astar calmly.
“What will I do?” Jezebel asked, uncertain.
“We have interfered in the living earth’s media. You are now being spoken of around the living earth as a leader in children’s issues. We wrote a school essay and sent it to the United Nations. As of your request, you have been invited to address them at the summit in the city of Kawasaki, Japan.”
“Really? Oh my…” Jezebel worried.
“Do not worry,” said Astar. “I will attend to all communication with the world leaders. You only have to allow me to speak through you. Will that be alright with you, Jezebel?”
“Will it save Fariddion?” Jezebel asked.
“Yes,” said Astar. “And the living earth.”
“Then that’s fine,” Jezebel smiled. “I’ll do it.”
Tibbar leapt into the air. The party fell silent for a moment as everyone was informed of Jezebel’s decision. Then horns, bells and whistles erupted in celebration. Fireworks burst across the sky.
“Thank you so much, Jezebel. Fariddion will be eternally grateful. We will be sending you back now, for Cathy is reaching the point of becoming irrational.”

Cathy came running toward them, frightened.
“Jezebel — I can’t tell if I’m dreaming!!” she cried.
As she reached them, the scenery began to shift. Voices from the gathering rose and fell in strange waves. Jezebel realised they were returning to the woods. The people faded, leaving the sunlit moss.

Tibbar stood beside them.
“Did you enjoy the party, Cathy?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I… don’t know. Was it real?” Cathy asked.
“To us it is home and real,” replied Tibbar.
“It was wonderful,” said Jezebel, watching her aunt with concern.
“I am going back to Fariddion and will visit you again soon,” said Tibbar. “Sleep on it, Cathy.”
“Are we back on the day we left?” Cathy asked anxiously, searching Jezebel’s face.
“Yes. Same time,” said Jezebel.
Cathy said nothing more as they watched Tibbar slowly disappear.
“That was… I’m so confused. Bloody hell, Jezebel. Did you see Karen and Elvin singing on stage? They were amazing together,” said Aunt Cathy, sitting heavily and staring at the toadstools. “Of course, going back in time to your school is right up there with it. Did you see—did you see?”

“No, I didn’t see them,” said Jezebel, walking toward her bike. “Mum and Dad will be home soon.”

Aunt Cathy followed. She wondered what Jezebel would get up to with Tibbar when she wasn’t around. She knew nothing of Jezebel’s mission to save Fariddion and the living earth.
“Just promise me you won’t go missing and make your parents worried for your safety,” said Cathy.
“I won’t make them worried. I don’t think Tibbar would let me get trapped in Fariddion. You made it back, didn’t you?”
“Promise,” said Aunt Cathy seriously.
“I promise,” said Jezebel, feeling responsible for Cathy’s safe return to the guestroom. Cathy still seemed intoxicated by the experience.
“We best be getting back,” said Cathy, glancing behind her. Two vibrant yellow butterflies hovered just above the moss, their wings brushing softly together.
“Everyone will be home soon,” said Cathy, beginning to calm.
“Exactly right,” encouraged Jezebel.

As they reached their bikes, Astar appeared again within the mossy circle, her expression gentle. Stone stood beside her.
“It didn’t work for Cathy quite as well. Though we knew this,” said Sitting Wolf. “We must be careful to protect Jezebel. If Harden hears our plans, her life will be in danger.”
“I like Jezebel very much,” said Astar. “We will keep her safe.”
“Yes, of course… Mr Jackson has passed into our play,” announced Sitting Wolf, and they vanished.

 

CHAPTER 9

 

EVERYONES HOME

 

Red clouds faintly framed the darkened sky. An unseasonably cold wind swept across the district. Brian, Pamela and James hurried inside from the first cold night in months.

“They’re back!” exclaimed Jezebel, hurrying downstairs barefoot toward the front door.

Aunt Cathy woke from a deep sleep in the guest bedroom. She had fallen asleep reading about holidays abroad, then dreamt of Fariddion. Her thoughts were much clearer now.

“Hi, baby,” said Pamela, stepping inside with a bag in hand, while Brian carried two suitcases and set them down just beyond the grandfather clock. Pamela placed her bag aside and wrapped Jezebel in a warm hug. Her perfume lingered. Her burgundy jacket and matching skirt were buttoned fully against the cold.
“Ah, good to be home!” smiled Brian, wearing a new Southampton supporters jersey he’d bought earlier that day during a leisurely morning stroll after breakfast in Northwood.
“Hi Daddy!” beamed Jezebel.
“Hi Jezebel,” said Brian. “That’s a lovely hug, cheers.”
“I hope you had a good time with Aunt Cathy while we were gone?” Pamela asked, smiling.
“Yes, we’ve had lots of fun,” Jezebel replied.
“Oh, lots of fun? That’s good,” said Pamela, surprised by her daughter’s abundant happiness. Last time Cathy babysat, things had been far more uneventful.
“Hi Jez,” said James, coming in with bags in hand, still in his tracksuit from after the game.
“Hi Mr Football,” smiled Jezebel. “Did you score?”
“Yep. Back of the net,” grinned James. “Offside though.”
“Oh no…” Jezebel groaned sympathetically.
Brian winced, imagining the raised flag.

Aunt Cathy stood at the top of the stairs and waited for James to pass.
“Hello James, did you have a good time?” she asked, still waking up.
“Yeah it was, thanks Aunty — and you?” James smiled brightly.
“Yep, lovely,” she stretched.

James hurried to his room, managing not to brush the walls with all the bags he carried.
“They drew!” called Brian from below. “The United States won a penalty with ten seconds to go. There’s a bag of soccer balls to come in,” he added, heading back outside.

“Hi Sis,” said Cathy, reaching the bottom of the stairs. Pamela opened her arms and they hugged briefly. They both said “How was—” at the same time. Jezebel looked up and smiled at them.
“Sorry,” said Cathy, gesturing for Pamela to speak first.
“So everything was alright?” Pamela asked, running her fingers through her hair as she switched on the hallway light. She unfastened her top two buttons.
“Couldn’t be better,” said Cathy truthfully, arms folded in her yellow jumper. She certainly wasn’t about to disclose her adventures with Tibbar. Brian came back in and stood beside Pamela.
“I can see that,” agreed Pamela. Aunt Cathy smiled at Jezebel, who looked very happy.
“Jezebel saw Doctor Hooper?” Pamela asked suddenly, worry flickering across her face.
“Here,” said Cathy, handing her a letter. Pamela and Brian read it immediately.
“Oh, okay,” nodded Pamela, finishing.
“See? I told you it would be fine, Pam,” said Brian.
“Well, we’ve got a bit of adjusting to do,” Pamela admitted, looking a little more at ease.
“Hope it wasn’t too much work?” Brian asked kindly.
“No, not at all,” Cathy replied matter‑of‑factly. “In fact, Jez woke up perfectly fine this morning. No sleepwalking. No problems.”
“None at all,” smiled Jezebel.

Jezebel slipped away and went upstairs to see James.
“That’s bloody brilliant!” beamed Brian.
He walked past Aunt Cathy and stepped into the kitchen. He flipped open his wallet.
“Right, here you are! And there’s a big tip in there for taking the boys to the airport,” he nodded.
Laughter echoed from James’s room as he and Jezebel shared stories.
Brian held out the handful of money — but for the first time in years, Cathy looked at it and felt no need for it. Not now.
“If it’s all the same with you, Brian, I’d prefer it if you didn’t pay me for looking after Jezebel this time.”
Pamela and Brian exchanged a surprised look.
“I know we talked about money for babysitting but… make yourselves comfy. I’ll put the kettle on and explain.”
“Excellent, Cathy,” smiled Brian, slipping the money back into his wallet. “I’ll just take these upstairs then.”
“I’ll come back down for those, Pam,” he added, catching the look on Pamela’s face.
“Alright,” agreed Pamela, dropping the suitcases and heading for the hallway toilet.

Aunt Cathy brought out four cups, saucers, teaspoons, sugar and a little jug of milk, placing them neatly on the kitchen table. The Yorks had a particular way with tea. She poured boiling water into the teapot, the Taylors of Harrogate leaves swirling inside. They felt teabags restricted the flavour. Cathy didn’t. Jezebel liked Teapigs, and Pamela and James preferred Tregothnan.

Soon Brian and Pamela entered the kitchen together, still perplexed by Cathy’s sudden change of plans.
“Alright. We’re ready for your explanation. You told me you were broke on the phone,” Pamela reminded her gently.
“I’m not now,” smiled Aunt Cathy.
“Good,” said Brian, seating himself at one end of the long wooden table. He leaned forward and slid over a teacup and saucer. “Ah, I see your taste in tea is still correct.”
“What’s this gorgeous looking bag on the table?” asked Pamela, picking it up.
“That’s from Henry’s Collectibles in town. I bought you both a little something for all your help,” said Cathy. She withdrew two small boxes from the floral shopping bag and handed a pink one to Pamela and a red one to Brian.
Both looked genuinely surprised. Aunt Cathy hadn’t bought them anything more than token confectionery in years. Inside each box was a beautiful decorative keychain with their names incised on them.
“This is twenty‑one karat gold!” said Brian, squinting at the hallmark. “Gorgeous!”
“Oh, they’re beautiful, Cath. How on earth could you afford them?” asked Pamela, staring fondly at hers.
“Things have been going very well lately and I—”
“They must have,” Brian cut in, adding a sugar to his cup, still squinting at the hallmark.
“Yes,” Cathy smiled. “I just wanted to show my appreciation for everything you’ve done for me over the past couple of years.”
“Well you’ve done that,” said Brian, pouring tea while bringing out his keys. “I like it. Very swish.” He began attaching his keys one by one.
“And here’s the money I owe you,” said Aunt Cathy, pulling a bundle of notes from her handbag. “It’s all there!” she declared with relief and pride as it clumsily fell onto the table, bouncing off the sugar bowl.

Pamela stared at the pile of money in disbelief.
“We didn’t want you to pay this back so soon,” Brian suggested.
“Well, while I can afford it, I wanted to get it out of the way. Just in case you decided to charge me interest,” Cathy teased.
“I’d never do that,” said Brian, gathering the notes and counting in his head. “Okay, Cath. Where did you get the money? Spill the beans.”
“A crazy bet I made weeks ago on the horses won,” Cathy blushed — the truth disguised as the best excuse.
“A bet?” Brian blinked. “Really?”
“I just happened by chance to pick the first four horses on Cup Day,” Cathy shrugged.
“What?” gasped Brian. “The first four? We lost on that, Pam!”
“I know you did, Brian,” said Pamela.
“Well… though your sister Nicole backed the winner. She collected a few hundred quid. Now — it paid out a good deal of money. Though I can’t remember how much. Radar, the seventy‑to‑one horse, came first, of course. The favourite fell. Second favourite fourth. A hundred‑to‑one something came third. Me‑ole‑China came second. Best race that horse will ever run… How much did you bet? A pound?”
“Twenty,” grinned Cathy.
“Twenty!! You’re joking!!” Pamela gasped.
Brian threw himself back in his seat and laughed loudly at the ceiling, then looked down to admire his new jersey.
“Well done, Cath! Lucky… but well done. I should have charged you interest,” he teased.
“Ah hah!” Cathy pointed. “My lucky numbers.”
Brian smiled and rolled up the money with a rubber band before squeezing it into his pocket.
“That’s amazing, Cath,” said Pamela, still stunned.
Aunt Cathy nodded. She felt relaxed, and it showed.
“I’m sorry it’s a bit of a surprise, but a pleasant one. I forgot all about the ticket. I guess it would’ve been anytime I returned what I’d borrowed this way. I just stuck it in the machine when I was out in town today and lady luck shined down on me.”
“Shined down enough to give you third‑degree burns,” laughed Brian. “Yes — but congratulations!” He reached over and shook her hand. “A once‑in‑several‑lifetimes event. We’re ecstatic for you, aren’t we, Pam?”
“Why of course,” smiled Pamela. She was used to money being readily accessible — Brian’s family had wealth. She was not used to Cathy having any at all. For Cathy to suddenly give expensive gifts and thousands in cash was… challenging.
“What are they?” asked Jezebel, entering the room.
“They’re a gift from Aunt Cathy. Key ring holders with our names in gold. Beautiful, aren’t they?” said Brian.
“Oh — that’s what you bought,” smiled Jezebel. “That was a good idea. I thought maybe you’d bought watches in the shop.”
“Were you there, baby?” asked Pamela.
Jezebel nodded. James entered the kitchen too. Pamela remembered Jezebel wasn’t supposed to go out until seeing Doctor Hooper, but said nothing.
“Yes, I was there — and Tibbar of course,” said Jezebel, opening the fridge for an orange juice.
“Did you get those up in Northwood?” asked James, pouring himself a drink, now in a Liverpool jersey.
“No, Aunt Cathy bought them,” explained Brian. “She’s come into some money.” He sounded proud.
“Yes, that’s true — and here’s yours, James,” said Aunt Cathy, handing him a small blue box. “And here’s yours, Jezebel.” She passed Jezebel a purple box.
Brian was enjoying the moment. He loved giving gifts — and watching people open them. He hadn’t brought anything back for the kids this time, so he felt slightly upstaged.
“What? This is awesome!” exclaimed James. “Is it gold?”
“Eighteen karat,” smiled Aunt Cathy, showing him the mark.
“Awe, thank you very much, Aunty! Look at this, Dad! The ball’s going around two teams on the second hand. See? They’re looking up at it now!” beamed James.
Brian jumped up and gazed passionately at the watch with him.
“What did you get, Jezebel?” asked Pamela, apprehensively.

“That’s England and the USA! How did you manage that?” asked Brian, speechless.
“Wow,” gasped James. “You’re right, Dad! That’s their old strip!”
“Very nice indeed,” said Brian. He looked at Cathy and nodded approvingly. Cathy now understood why Tibbar had suggested buying that one.
“I got this,” said Jezebel, drawing a thin golden chain from the box. A locket dangled at the end. As it stopped spinning, she saw it held a picture of herself, Tibbar and Aunt Cathy. It was lovely, and Jezebel adored it.
Pamela came to stand beside her and examined it. She thought it was a very special gift.
Jezebel ran to Aunt Cathy and hugged her.
“It’s very special,” said Jezebel sweetly. “It’s still the best week of my life.”
“Oh look,” said Pamela, opening the locket. “It opens up. You could put lots of different pictures in it.”
“I’m not sure I’d want to change the picture,” replied Jezebel, placing it over her head. It sat perfectly around her shoulders.
“I’m going to call Andrew,” said James, staring at his new watch and picking up the hands‑free phone.
Pamela gave Brian a look that suggested it was his turn to show off. He understood — but didn’t want to.
“You must have spent all your money buying these gifts,” Pamela remarked dryly.
“She’s still got a trailer‑load left,” Brian informed her.
James began explaining the watch to Andrew over the phone.
“I guess that’s a good thing. You’ll need it for your car repayments,” teased Pamela.
“I’ll be paying the convertible off in full when I get back,” retorted Aunt Cathy with a playful, arrogant smile.
Pamela burst out laughing.
“What ever is the matter?” smiled Jezebel.
Pamela ran to Cathy and threw her arm around her, squeezing tightly. They jumped up and down together, laughing in celebration.
“Right,” smiled Brian. “Time for some champagne!”
“Can I help prepare some food or drinks?” asked Aunt Cathy, laughing.
“Of course,” smiled Brian, pulling a cold bottle of Moët from the fridge and passing it to her. “Three glasses in that cupboard.”
Aunt Cathy quickly brought down three colourful champagne glasses. Brian popped the cork. It bounced off the ceiling and James leapt up and caught it in his outstretched hand.
“Wow — well caught, James!” smiled Jezebel.
“Did you catch that?” asked Pamela, still laughing.
“Yeah,” smiled James, tossing the cork repeatedly.
Jezebel ran to Pamela and hugged her again.
“I missed you,” she smiled.
“Did you? Thanks, baby. I needed to hear that,” said Pamela thoughtfully.
“So, what are we going to make a toast to?” asked Brian cheerfully. “The money? The draw? The back of the net, hey James? My new jersey? Meeting Andy Knight? Our health?”
“Well, everyone’s home together — so how about that?” suggested Pamela.
They all raised their glasses and cans in agreement. They loved celebrating successful chapters in their family home.

 

 

 

CHAPTER 10.

THE FAMOUS GIRL

 

Early in the morning, Brian made his way downstairs toward the front door. Someone was hammering on the door and pushing the doorbell with such persistence that even Brian’s patience was wearing thin for Beethoven at this time of the morning. For a terrible moment, as he neared the door, he wondered if it had something to do with Jezebel’s sleepwalking.
He pulled the door open to find a woman standing in front of a man with a large TV camera on his shoulder. She thrust a microphone toward his face.
“Mr York!” she beamed.
“Yes,” smiled Brian, amused. “Is that on? I haven’t brushed my hair yet.”
“Clair Tomlinson, Tower Bridge News.”
“Right. Good morning, Clair. I’ve seen you on the TV. Charmed,” said Brian, noticing a second news vehicle pulling up beside Tower Bridge’s brand‑new white Mercedes van.
“Is the famous girl home?” asked Clair.
“Sorry? You must have the wrong Mr York,” Brian chuckled.
His smile faltered as a third, then a fourth news vehicle rolled into the driveway.
“Jezebel. That’s your daughter. Correct?” Clair pressed.
“Yes, that’s correct. What’s all this about?” Brian asked.
“Surely you’re aware that her letter to the United Nations has made world headlines?”
Brian began to laugh.
“Oh right… now I understand. This is one of those gotcha bad‑boys pranks, right? Bit excessive. Anyway… you can have a cup of tea if you like?”
“This is no joke, Mr York. We’re filming you live right now. Here, look at this,” said Clair, shaking her head. She pulled out her phone and showed him a clip — several members of the United Nations at a press conference, inviting Jezebel York to address them tomorrow. A picture of Jezebel appeared on the screen behind them.
Brian’s mouth fell open. He pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.
“Crikey!” he gasped.

Upstairs, Jezebel sat on her bed talking to Tibbar and Astar.
“So, you’re telling me that Elvin and Karen will pick me up soon. They’ll take me to Japan. I’ll give this speech”—she waved the lengthy, impossibly complicated script—“and that all will be well for Fariddion and the living earth. Are you serious?” Jezebel frowned. “I can’t do that.”
She walked to the window and saw a seventh news vehicle arriving in the yard.
Tibbar looked at Astar. They nodded. Astar stepped forward and entered Jezebel’s body. Jezebel turned around sharply.
“Where did Astar go?” she asked.
“I am with you now,” said Astar. “I will guide you to success.”
“Yes,” agreed Tibbar. “We will take care of you through this journey yes. Astar will help you explain and understand things exceptionally well. Are you ready to begin?”
“But what about Mum and Dad? School? Everything?” Jezebel panicked.

A shift came over her — everything settled, calm and uncomplicated.

“Yes… I’m ready. It should be fun,” Jezebel smiled, her demeanour transformed. She giggled.
“I will keep you calm, Jezebel,” whispered Astar. “I will help you talk. Do you understand?”
“Yes. It’s better that way. I would make a huge mess of things. There is so much importance in what must be done. It is the right thing to do,” Jezebel said. “Here comes Daddy!”
An overzealous knocking rattled her unlocked door, followed by her parents bursting in before she could answer.
“Jezebel!” they said together.
“You’ve been invited to speak at the United Nations!” Pamela announced.
“I’ve read a page of your letter,” said Brian. “And you’ve convinced me with your sincerity. I didn’t realise you had such a mastery of English. Your mother and I had no idea you felt this way. Why didn’t you tell us last night?”
“The United Nations! Jezebel! This is huge!” Pamela gasped.
Jezebel remained silent and composed as James entered the room with Aunt Cathy.
“I just saw you on the news, Sis!” James blurted.
“Me too!” Cathy added, her mouth open.

They waited for Jezebel to say something. After a moment, she took a handful of slow steps, deep in thought.
“I just wrote it from the heart. I emailed it in and this is the result. I certainly didn’t expect them to make a huge fuss about it. They won’t change my mind. I have accepted their request to attend, and they are sending a car to pick me up soon. I’m really looking forward to it. I hope you will support me with this, Mother… Father…”

They all stared at her in disbelief.

“Ah… you’re not overwhelmed?” asked Pamela.
“No,” replied Jezebel gently.
“Well, you’ll have to go with one of us. But I can’t go. All my customers are relying on my weekly delivery today,” explained Brian, rubbing his neck.
“I was hoping Mother or Aunt Cathy,” suggested Jezebel.
“I can’t go either,” complained Pamela. “I’ve made a booking with the dentist. My teeth are hurting. It was so bad last night,” she frowned. “Dr Chan is seeing me today. You go, Cathy,” she added, wincing.
“Oh, maybe,” said Cathy, wide‑eyed.
“Sorry about your teeth, Mum. I’m sure it will settle down soon. That’s settled then,” said Jezebel calmly. “Cathy will escort me.”

James felt slightly offended that Jezebel hadn’t asked him, but he accepted her wishes.
“Well, I need to use the bathroom,” smiled Jezebel. “Can you ask them to wait for me a while? I’d like to get dressed first. Pack an overnight bag.”

Jezebel noticed that no one was leaving her room.
“Is that alright?” she asked, waiting for them to go. Brian and Pamela could sense a slight change in their daughter, but under the circumstances her composure was a relief.
“Right, come on everyone,” said Pamela. “We better let the star get dressed,” she added, her attempt at a smile way off.
Jezebel beamed confidently at Pamela, like a different person.
“Certainly, Jezebel. We’ll see you downstairs,” nodded Brian, feeling slightly proud of her coolness toward the waiting media scrum.
James laughed and left first.
“Good luck, Sis,” he grinned, thoroughly impressed — though his studies were still his main priority.

By the time Brian made it downstairs, it was too late. The media had invaded the house.

“Yes, I know,” he said to Pamela. “It’s out of control now.”

As they reached the entrance, Brian’s patience was fully tested. Reporters and cameramen were popping out of toilets, bathrooms, storage rooms, the lounge, the kitchen — even his office. He was about to call the neighbours for help when Mark and Mabel arrived on their own, offering assistance.

“She’ll be down in five,” announced Cathy from the top of the stairs.

Pamela waited at the bottom, making sure nobody headed upstairs. James’s studies were forgotten as he patrolled the garden, making sure nothing was taken.
“Put that back!” shouted James, as two cameramen wheeled Jezebel’s bike out of the unlocked garage.
“Just a quick snap?” asked one of the men, as dozens of people descended on the bike, cameras flashing like royalty had arrived. They suddenly scattered as the call went out that Jezebel York was about to appear. Live crews filled the yard, preparing for their broadcasts. An eerie silence settled over the Yorks’ residence as the media waited for the sound of Jezebel’s footsteps.

Suddenly cameras flashed and reporters went live around the world as Jezebel York walked elegantly down the stairs. She smiled like a figure of historic importance as she stopped beside her parents and accepted a kiss on the cheek from each. James was pushed forward by journalists and support staff into the blazing camera flashes.
“Are you looking forward to meeting the heads of world affairs, Jezebel?” asked a reporter.

“Very much so,” nodded Jezebel, beginning the procession toward the door. Pamela and Brian looked on in amazed confusion at the spectacle unfolding in their home. Power cables ran like spaghetti underfoot as Jezebel reached the doorway.
A Japanese reporter approached her. In halting English, she attempted to ask Jezebel about herself. It was all very confusing — until the room fell silent. You could hear a pin drop as Jezebel began speaking fluent Tokyo dialect. The reporter nearly fainted, laughing and squeaking with delight as she chatted live to the world. Staff affiliated with countries everywhere were frantically calling their bosses, reporting Jezebel York’s unexpected intelligence.

Jezebel finished her conversation in Japanese by saying: "Nihon no manga anime wa hontou ni subarashii to omoimasu."
“I didn’t know Jezebel could speak Japanese,” said James.
“Neither did I,” answered Pamela, blank.
“I think she likes Arashi,” said Brian.
“Oh, what’s that?” asked Pamela.
“A Japanese boy band,” replied Brian.
“Okay,” said Pamela, still blank.
“Come on,” insisted a perturbed Brian, heading for the door to catch up with Jezebel and Aunt Cathy.
“You’re a very educated young lady,” said the reporter. “But you still hold onto a part of your childhood with your toy rabbit?”
“Yes. I still take Tibbar most places I go,” smiled Jezebel.
“What about climate change?” shouted a reporter.
“What about nuclear war?” yelled another.
“Are you for the war in the east?” called another.
“Which world leader are you most looking forward to meeting in Japan?” demanded another.
“Do you have a favourite food?” asked someone else.

Suddenly the roar of a sports car engine cut through the chaos as it entered the driveway. It parked sharply behind the mass of reporters.
“All of these topics are very important to me,” smiled Jezebel. “And I will answer all of them and many more tomorrow in Japan.”

“Excuse me. Pardon me. Excuse me, ma’am,” said Elvin, gently moving reporters aside as Karen stepped through and took Jezebel’s hand.
“Hey ya, Jez. Your ride awaits,” smiled Karen, bending playfully and sweeping her arm toward the sleek sports car.
“Who the heck are they?” asked Brian, bending down to speak into Cathy’s ear.
“That’s Elvin and Karen,” replied Cathy, surprised herself.
“You know them?” demanded Pamela.
“I… met them yesterday,” stuttered Cathy, watching Elvin open the door for Jezebel.
“Why didn’t you tell us about all this last night, Cathy?” frowned Pamela.
“I knew nothing about it myself,” admitted Cathy.

A large man from the Canadian national broadcaster decided to make a scene and charged forward, attempting to bowl Elvin over. Unfortunately for him, he bounced off Elvin like a pinball off a bumper and landed heavily on his backside. No one cared at all.
Elvin and Karen smiled as Jezebel climbed into the back seat with Tibbar. Cathy hurried forward and slipped in beside her. Karen tossed their bags into the boot, climbed in, and Elvin drove off.
“Bye, Jezebel!” waved Pamela — and promptly fainted into Brian’s arms. Cameras immediately descended on the passed‑out Pamela and the dumbfounded Brian York, who muttered something about sleepwalking.

 

 

CHAPTER 11.

A TIME TO SING

 

“Welcome aboard, Cathy,” smiled Karen, tapping the dash with her fingertips in a steady, rhythmic beat.
“Hi Karen,” said Cathy. “I cashed the ticket.”
“Good gal. We want you to have abundance, Cath,” Karen replied warmly.

“Hello, Cathy,” smiled Astar, suddenly sitting on the other side of Jezebel.
“Oh… okay!” laughed Cathy, startled but trying to play it cool.
“That’s how I spoke Japanese,” said Jezebel. “Astar was doing it for me. She’s communicating through me.”

Cathy didn’t understand any of it as the car sped along, but she nodded anyway.

“Well, we’ve got a little time before we take the Skyway Highway to Kawasaki,” said Elvin.
“Man… the Skyway Highway to Kawasaki,” grinned Karen, as if it were an inside joke.
“Yeah… I’m a little hungry. We could stop for a bite to eat. Grab a soda?” Elvin turned to Jezebel. “What do you think, Jezebel? Sound good?”
“Sounds good,” smiled Jezebel.
“Sounds good. Let’s do it,” nodded Elvin.
“I’ll have to sit this one out,” said Astar, vanishing without ceremony.

The car accelerated like a rocket. A tunnel of light opened around them, swirling with multicoloured streaks.
“Watch this,” said Elvin, eyes forward.
The car rolled slowly in a full rotation, ending upright again.
“I love that. Do you love that, Jez?” asked Karen, turning around.
“Yeah,” smiled Jezebel. “Wow!”
“Not so much,” muttered Cathy, gripping her door handle.
“Should we do a little racing for them?” laughed Karen, slapping her knee.
“Should we, Jezebel?” asked Elvin softly. “No chance of an accident, I promise.” He raised his hand in a scout’s‑honour gesture.
“Let it rip, Elvin,” laughed Jezebel.
“That’s the spirit,” said Elvin. “Just hang on tight, Miss Carrington.”
“Oh god…” whispered Cathy.

They were suddenly surrounded by dozens of fast cars and bikes climbing a huge embankment that was clearly not of Earth. Some were sleek and futuristic; others were classic ’57 Chevrolets and ’70s Mustangs. Cathy swore she saw car number 15 of Buddy Baker and 21 of Cale Yarborough overtake them before banking right into a mind‑bending descent.

Ahead loomed a massive ramp. Up they climbed, higher and higher, then launched into the blue.

A figure from the Stranded appeared ahead and hurled a hot‑white energy ball. Elvin flipped the car mid‑air, landing smoothly on all four wheels and crossing the finish line just behind bike number seven — by the width of its tyre.

“Hoo wee!” sang Karen. “That was fun!”

Both Jezebel and Cathy were relieved the ride was ending. Jezebel looked back and saw the Stranded figure cursing.
“Oh, this place looks great,” said Karen.

“We cannot stay long,” warned Tibbar. “We need our energy to maintain Jezebel and Cathy’s safe arrival.”

Sports cars, hot rods, and motorbikes filled the car park. Palm trees swayed in the evening breeze as Elvin led Karen, Cathy, Jezebel, and Tibbar toward the entry.
Karen paused, scanning the lot. She jogged over to a car and peered inside. A teenage boy in a black hoodie looked up, startled.

“Nice car,” she said.
“Ah… want to take a ride in it, hun?” he asked hopefully.
Karen wiggled her fingers in a playful goodbye and walked off.
“Damn,” muttered the boy.

People smiled and greeted them warmly.

Inside, they waited no more than five minutes before being taken to a booth near the stage.

The place was packed and noisy. A large TV screen showing Jezebel’s picture drew attention.
“We can’t stay here too long,” said Tibbar. “In this realm the Stranded are strong. Our energy could be depleted.”
“I’m hearing ya, old Bunny,” said Elvin. "Just don't scratch your needle."

“There you are. Please take a seat. I’m Carol,” smiled the waitress.
“Hi Carol,” said Karen. “Can we have five cheeseburgers, five fries, and five colas please? Oh, I’ve wanted to say that for the longest time,” she added to Elvin.
“Coming right up! You guys look fabulous,” said Carol, smiling at Elvin. “Hey, aren’t you that famous girl on the TV… Jezebel, right?”
“Ah… hmm,” said Jezebel shyly.
“You two look familiar too,” said Carol.
“Who’s the entertainment tonight?” asked Elvin, glancing at the stage.
“Not till later, honey. Do you play?” asked Carol, flashing her blue eyes.
“He does,” said Karen. “And you should hear him sing.”
“Well sure. There’s a guitar up there. I help hire the entertainment here at the Starlight Hop. Get up and play something and I’ll get your food and set the lights.”
“Who’s this?” asked a big man in blue denim and a black cowboy hat, staring at Elvin.
“This is Elvin and Karen, Horse. They’re going to sing a couple of songs,” explained Carol.
A huge smile spread across Horse’s face.
“Rock ’n’ roll?” he asked.
“You bet,” said Elvin.
“I’ll organise some of the boys to back ya,” said Horse, hurrying off.
Cathy, Jezebel, and Tibbar watched as Elvin led Karen to the stage. Elvin tuned an old red Hawaiian Kikakila guitar while Karen adjusted two microphones.
“How about The Wonder? We’ll sing it together. Okay?” said Elvin.
He strummed the opening chords — warm, nostalgic, unmistakable.
Karen joined him, their voices blending effortlessly as the room fell into a hush.
Women applauded.
Horse grabbed the bass.
More musicians hurried up to join in.
The chorus rose, rich and full, the whole room swaying with it — the wonder of two voices carrying something deeper than the crowd could name.

The hall erupted with applause.
“Thank you very much,” said Elvin.
“Thank you, thank you,” bowed Karen. “For something a little different, I think I’ll play those drums.”

“Are they who I think they are, Tibbar?” whispered Aunt Cathy, mesmerised.
Tibbar didn’t reply.
A drummer stood to let Karen take his place. She pulled the snare closer.
“We’d like to invite Cathy Carrington up onto the stage to help us sing the next one,” announced Elvin.
“Me?” Cathy gasped, pleasantly surprised.
Jezebel took her hand, led her up, then hurried back to Tibbar.
“Twist and Shout in G‑sharp,” said Karen, snapping out a short drum roll.
The band pounced.
“Ah—” sang Elvin.
“Ah—” sang Karen.
“Ah—” sang Cathy.
“Ah…” they layered together.
Cathy took the lead, her voice bright and surprisingly strong. Karen and Elvin echoed her, the three of them weaving a tight, joyful harmony. Elvin punched out the lead break. Karen kept a crisp, infectious beat.
The song ended with a long, impressive drum flourish from Karen just as their cheeseburgers, fries, and colas arrived. They bowed and signed autographs on the way back.
“Thank you very much,” said Elvin, accepting a kiss on the cheek from an enthusiastic admirer. Karen received several pecks and signed autographs from two male fans.
“I haven’t done that for the longest time,” she said, glowing as she sat.
“You three were fabulous,” said Jezebel, lifting her cheeseburger. “Where are we, by the way?”
“Yeah, that question crossed my mind too,” said Cathy, still flushed.
“Hawaii,” said Elvin. “Good fishing here.”
“This is so much fun,” Cathy admitted.
“You’re not eating,” said Jezebel.
“We don’t need to consume solids anymore,” said Karen. “We’ve got all the energy we need.”
“But how come you look so real?” asked Cathy.
“Well, right now,” said Karen, “back in Fariddion there are over a million Fariddions sharing some of their energy so we can be here. It’s something almost never done.”
“Lucky we got chosen,” said Elvin. “It’s a thrill to hold a guitar again and touch a mic from the living Earth. Still, I’m happy in Fariddion. The music is out of this world there… and soon, this will be over.”
“It’s also because we haven’t been in Fariddion that long,” said Karen. “We’re not superhuman, but here we are — riding a million horsepower, baby. Be‑Bop‑A‑Lula, man!”

Cathy and Jezebel finished their food. They all stood to leave.
“Before you go,” called Carol from the stage, “could you please bless us with one more song?”
“Go on, please?” begged Cathy.
“Man… do you want to, Elvin?” asked Karen.
“We’d be happy to,” smiled Elvin.
Karen led him back to the stage and tapped the microphone.
“Is this thing on? Oh — it’s on.”
“How about We’ve Only Begun?” said Elvin.
The audience clapped as the band started.
Karen’s voice floated gently over the room, warm and steady.
Elvin joined her on the chorus, their harmonies blending with a tenderness that made the crowd fall silent.
Then, mid‑phrase, Elvin began to collapse.
Karen caught him. Several waitresses rushed over as Elvin slumped back into the bench seat next to an alarmed Cathy.

“As I said earlier,” said Tibbar, “you have exerted too much energy. You are shaken up. My record of play is always on point.”

Now Karen was slumping against Jezebel, who did her best to keep her upright.
“I’m alright now,” said Elvin, shaking his head several times, his hair a mess.
“But Karen is not,” said Astar. Astar entered Karen’s body and walked her toward the car. Everyone followed. It was time to return to their mission.
“Look!” said Astar, inside Karen, pointing to the distant mountains. “I see several Stranded riding towards us.”
“Quick! Run!” said Tibbar, racing toward the car.
Elvin saw everyone inside, then sped off with the Stranded in hot pursuit.

As they tore away from the Starlight Hop, Jezebel glanced back through the rear window. The Stranded figures crested the ridge like shadows peeling off the mountainside, their movements jerky and unnatural, as though the world itself resisted their presence. For a moment, one of them lifted its head and Jezebel felt — or imagined — a thin thread of recognition pass between them. Cathy shuddered beside her, unable to explain why the sight made her stomach twist. Elvin tightened his grip on the wheel, saying nothing.

 

CHAPTER 12

DESTINATION JAPAN

 

Pamela stared at the dentist.
“Are you serious?”
“I’m serious, Mrs York. There’s nothing wrong with your teeth. That I can see, anyway.” Mr Chan tapped the x‑ray viewer. “The x‑rays look fine. I’m not saying you didn’t feel discomfort, I’m just saying the x‑rays show your teeth are fine. When I tap on your teeth, you say they’re fine. They’re not in need of a clean either. I’ll give you a brochure to take home on some of the reasons teeth can hurt that aren’t dental. Infection, colds and flu—”
“Alright,” Pamela cut in. “I’ll take the brochure. I’ve got to get home. Thanks for seeing me on short notice.”
“No problem.” Dr Chan smiled. “By the way, all the staff here wanted to pass on their hellos to Jezebel.”
Pamela smiled politely and left.

When she arrived home, she found Brian, James, and a bunch of neighbours finishing the considerable clean‑up job. She stood watching as the last of the rubbish bags were tossed into Brian’s caged trailer.

“Right,” Brian said, smiling. “That’s it! Thanks everyone. Much appreciated.”

The neighbours drifted off, leaving Brian, James, and Pamela to head back inside and lock the door.

“Well, that’s not the early‑morning cup of tea in bed with the newspaper I was looking forward to, was it now?” Brian scratched his head.
“It’s been quite fun, I thought,” James said, checking his watch.

“I’m not as happy as you about all this, James,” Brian muttered, pouring tea.
“I didn’t even know she spoke fluent Japanese,” James said, grabbing a water bottle.
“Me too, to both of your statements,” Pamela agreed. “This morning was like some crazy dream.”
Pamela’s phone rang.
“Hello? How did you get this number? No, we’re not giving interviews.” She hung up.
“Don’t worry too much,” James said with a smile. “You’ll be able to see her on the television tomorrow. The United Nations. You just need to adjust to the fact that Jezebel is going to be a famous girl. Nothing’s going to change that. For a week at least,” chuckled James.
“I understand what you’re saying, James. It’s a good point. It’s just that it all happened without any family discussion or input,” Brian said, leaning back in his chair with his hands clasped behind his neck.
“That’s exactly right, darling,” Pamela agreed.
“Yep. No going back now. It’s an unexpected home goal,” James chuckled.
“What about her attitude, James?” Pamela continued. “You saw what she was like this morning. The way she seemed in total control. Not like our adorable little girl at all. Like… a mature woman.”
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s right. I know what you mean, Mum. I do. It’s a bit to adjust to,” James said, sipping his other sports drink.
“Alright then,” Brian said with a tired smile. “We need to move to stage two. It’s happened. We’re on the ride now. Once she’s home we can all sit down together and have a family meeting and wrap our… tired heads around this mess.”
“Okay... or say nothing and let it fad away?” Pamela said, tapping Brian’s hand sweetly. “It’ll be fine. Let’s not worry any more about it. You won’t be able to do a single delivery without someone pulling you up to talk about our famous daughter Jezebel.” She laughed. “All of Bearing Friendly Dentist’s staff asked me to pass on their regards to Jezebel.”
“Stop it,” Brian said, starting to laugh.

 

The sleek red sports car stopped suddenly.
“Oh man…” Karen grinned. “Don’t those UN flags look pretty, Elvin?”
“Like a field of irises,” Elvin said. “I’m afraid this is where we say goodbye again, little sister.”
“I’ll see you both again though, right?” Jezebel asked.
“Oh sure,” Karen nodded brightly.
“Where’s Astar? I can’t do this without her,” Jezebel said, looking around.
“She’ll be here,” Elvin said, removing his sunglasses so she could see his sincere blue eyes.
Astar reappeared beside Jezebel in the back seat.
“Hello Jezebel,” she said with a giggle. “It’s show time. Did you miss me?”
“Yes, of course. I’m glad you’re here,” Jezebel said. “I was starting to get nervous again. Look at all the security. They look angry!”

Security personnel moved closer to the car, drawing their guns and taking aim at the occupants of the mystery vehicle.
“Exit the vehicle. Now!” an officer shouted. “You have made an unofficial arrival!”
Elvin, Karen, Aunt Cathy, and Jezebel—holding Tibbar—climbed out with their hands in the air and huddled together.

“God damn it!” Wilford, the American FBI adviser, cursed. He stood beside Mr Mori, the head of Japanese security, at the top of the stairs a hundred feet away.
“Mr Mori, that’s… that’s Jezebel York! Damn,” Wilford stuttered.
Mr Mori barked instructions. Guns were lowered. Handshakes were offered. Smiles replaced bared teeth as government reporters and hosts rushed forward to greet Jezebel.
Jezebel lowered her raised arm slightly and waved. The fact that several photos of her surrender pose would make the evening papers around the world was little comfort to world leaders hoping for a unifying image.

Interest in Jezebel had skyrocketed in Japan and was rising globally. A small crowd of thirty Japanese onlookers behind a police barricade, previously docile, now rushed forward with pens drawn, eager for her signature. Mori shouted commands for a friendly approach.
“Onegaishimasu, sign! Sign!” a boy beamed, holding out his autograph book.
“Konichiwa,” Jezebel bowed. “Konichiwa!”
She began signing pens thrust toward her, though she noticed she kept almost writing Astar instead of Jezebel.

"Stop it!" giggled Jezebel.

Several girls had cut their hair like hers and wore dresses in similar colours.

“Welcome, Jezebel!” four officials said, forming a protective shield around her.

Men in suits presented flowers and matcha tea sets, bowing deeply. Japanese robots stood at a safe distance as honoured guests.

“Come. This way,” a Geisha instructed.

Jezebel and Aunt Cathy followed, pausing to look back at Elvin and Karen.
“Thank you,” Jezebel called, waving.
Elvin pointed at her proudly as he and Karen chatted with officials.
Jezebel was enjoying the sensation of Astar communicating through her. It felt like being pushed around in a pram with a bottle in one holder and a candy cane in the other.

“We have rooms for dignitaries only,” an official apologised to Karen and Elvin.
Karen smiled, bowing and asking questions about his hometown. Her charm, excellent Japanese, and surprising knowledge of his local area earned them an exception. They were given a room on the tenth floor that had just become vacant. The official instructed his assistant to escort them in the sleek red car. Elvin, for once, drove close to the speed limit.

“Hello,” FBI agent Wilford said as Jezebel passed him at the top of the steps, still signing autographs.
“I hope she doesn’t have a bomb in that bunny,” Wilford whispered to Mori.
“If she does,” Mori smiled, “we’re both out of a job.”

 

Jezebel and Aunt Cathy closed the door of room 663 and looked at each other. Astar stepped back from Jezebel as she sat on a bamboo chair.
“We will return later,” Astar said, taking Tibbar.
“We must return to Fariddion. An update to the council is required. Bye, Jezebel,” Tibbar added.
They vanished.

“Well… if they don’t come back, we’re in big trouble,” Jezebel said. “How would we get out of here?”
“Anyway, we’re in,” Cathy said cautiously. “When is your speech again?”
“Ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”
A knock sounded at the door.
“Who is it?” Cathy called, seeing Jezebel’s reluctance.
“Room service!”
“You get it, Cathy,” Jezebel begged. “In case they want me to start discussing bonsai trees again.”

Cathy opened the door and accepted tea and sushi from a handsome, impeccably dressed attendant. He arranged the tray with perfect precision, then smiled broadly at Jezebel and spoke a long sentence she didn’t understand. She would almost have preferred another stint on Mount Everest to escape the silence.
“Konichiwa,” Jezebel bowed. “Konichiwa, konichiwa.”
The man shrugged, laughed, repeated “konichiwa”, and left.

Cathy stared at her.
“That’s all I know,” Jezebel complained.
“Oh my… we better not open the door again until Astar returns. Anyway—fresh sushi. Come on.”
They sat and enjoyed their late‑afternoon meal.

 

A loud knock came at the door.
“What’s the time?” Jezebel asked, turning the movie down and looking at Cathy with apprehension.
“Seven,” Cathy whispered.
The door rattled again with more persistent knocking.
“Oh no,” Cathy grimaced.
“I’ll go in the bathroom. Tell them I’m taking a shower,” Jezebel giggled. She covered her face to stifle her laughter as she raced into the bathroom and locked the door.

The door rattled even louder as Cathy took a deep breath, unlocked it, and pulled it open.
Two men in dark glasses and suits stood there.
“Hello,” Mr Mori said with a smile. “I have brought a guest since you refused to answer your phone.” He stepped aside to reveal the British Prime Minister.
“You look like… don’t tell me… Cathy Carrington. Jezebel’s aunt. Correct?” the Prime Minister said warmly.
Cathy was speechless. He looked taller than she expected.
“I’m so terribly sorry to intrude,” he continued. “May I come in?” he asked, already stepping inside with Mr Mori, who quietly placed the room phone back on its receiver.
“Jezebel’s here, I hope?” he asked, looking around.
“Ah, yes, Prime Minister,” Cathy managed.
“Good. For now, just call me Richard,” he said.
“Okay… Richard,” Cathy breathed, watching him take a seat.
“She’s just taking a shower,” Cathy explained apologetically. “She only just got in.”

Instead of leaving, the Prime Minister made himself more comfortable. Several attendants hurried in, placing tea and juice on the table and rearranging flowers and artwork throughout the room. The Prime Minister cleared his throat.
“Thought I’d give your room a bit more colour… I’m afraid I’ll have to make an exception this time, Cathy. I must meet this wonderfully talented young lady tonight. Time, I have little of to myself, you see.”
“Right,” Cathy nodded, feeling increasingly nervous.
“So, is everything satisfactory for you both?” he asked with a smile.
“Oh…” Cathy blinked. “Yes. Yes, it’s…” She shook her head, overwhelmed. “Fine. Really.”
“Good,” the Prime Minister chirped. “Excuse me,” he added, answering his phone.

Cathy watched him discuss matters she was certain she wasn’t meant to hear. Ten minutes passed. He finished his third call.

“Cathy, could you be so kind as to let Jezebel know I am waiting for her?”
“Oh—right.” Cathy knocked. “Jezebel?”

The shower turned off. The door opened a fraction.

“Have they gone?” Jezebel whispered. She peeked past Cathy and saw the Prime Minister sitting there watching her.
“Hello, Jezebel. I just need five minutes of your time.”
Jezebel shut the door again without a word.
“Just one minute,” Cathy said brightly, pretending everything was fine. “She’s just a bit… shy sometimes.”
The Prime Minister raised his eyebrows. Jezebel had not been described as shy in any briefing.
Cathy tapped until Jezebel unlocked the door, and she quickly slipped inside.

“I can’t,” Jezebel moaned. She placed her hands over her face.
“You have to,” Cathy pleaded. “He’s been waiting nearly twenty‑five minutes! He’s not going away!”
“Twenty‑five minutes?” Jezebel said loudly.
“Shush…” Cathy hissed, waving her hands. “You don’t have to speak Japanese.”
“I can’t speak Japanese,” Jezebel snapped.
“That’s right. Shit. Whoops, sorry… Just… just be polite,” Cathy begged, pulling a stressed face.
“I can’t!” Jezebel pleaded. “I can’t…”
Cathy grabbed her wrist and pulled her out to face the Prime Minister.

“Ah… well, we meet at last, Ms York,” the Prime Minister said, standing and briskly shaking her hand. “Glad you could make it. Though we still haven’t worked out how your friends Elvin and Karen made it to the main entrance to drop you off without us seeing you. Quite bizarre really. Some kind of camera glitch, I expect. Never mind. Anyway… hajimemashite.” He bowed.
Jezebel bowed, then retreated straight back into the bathroom.

A look of annoyance flickered across the Prime Minister’s face.

“Miss Carrington, this will never do.” He began pacing with his hands behind his back. “I have a dozen experts breathing down my neck. They insist she’s a fraud. A plant. A… look. I’m afraid if she can’t come out and show me she really is a capable young woman, then I must insist you inform the young lady that she needs—”
The bathroom door opened again.

This time Jezebel stepped out carrying Tibbar. As the Prime Minister bowed again with restraint, Cathy let out a sigh of relief. Astar and Tibbar were back.

“I’m terribly sorry, Prime Minister. I’ve had an upset tummy,” Jezebel said, now completely composed. “Most embarrassing.”
“There’s no need to apologise, Jezebel. Hopefully the food here isn’t the problem… forgive me for turning up unannounced.”
“Please, take a seat again,” Jezebel said. In fluent Japanese she asked for more tea and asked whether the Prime Minister had tried a Kawasaki delicacy, Lamian noodles.

“Have you not tried the tobiko, Prime Minister?” she asked politely, with a hint of judgement.
“Ah, no, no, I don’t believe so. Is that octopus?” he asked.
“No. Flying fish roe. But they do add squid colouring. It slightly changes the taste, Richard.”
“Really?” he beamed. “Well, I… I… I will definitely try some while I’m here.” He grinned. “Now, if I may. I’m running very late now. Tomorrow’s speech. You… can I see it?”
“I don’t write things down, Prime Minister,” Jezebel said confidently. She laughed, finding it all suddenly easy.
“Why—what’s so funny, Ms York?” Richard asked.

“Your security staff are looking very impatient,” Jezebel said.
“Impatient, hey?” He turned to look. “Yes, yes, I suppose they are. We were supposed to meet with the Canadian Prime Minister ten minutes ago, but he’ll just have to wait like a good little boy now, won’t he?” He laughed, and Jezebel joined him.
“I’d better go,” he said, standing.
“Of course, Prime Minister. It’s been a real thrill meeting the living Earth’s British Prime Minister.”
Jezebel looked slightly surprised at Astar’s choice of words.
“Yes,” Richard chuckled. “I’m still living at the moment… Just one other detail, Ms York.”
“Please,” Jezebel said, watching him with the patience and knowledge of eons.
“I trust there will be no swearing. No arguing. No fights. Just an agreeable speech in harmony… in a manner befitting this special occasion of international unity. Here—take this memo. It explains the requirements of the guest speakers and so and so forth.” He looked firmly into her eyes.
“I agree, of course. Koketsu ni irazunba koji wo ezu,” Jezebel said.
“Ah… I… I… I don’t recall that. Please forgive me,” the Prime Minister replied, slightly annoyed. Mr Mori’s expression told him Jezebel meant business.
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” Jezebel translated.
“Yes, I know that,” the Prime Minister said, heading for the door.
“Actually, Prime Minister,” Mr Mori added, “Ms York said: if you do not enter the tiger’s cage, you will not catch its cub.”
“Ah… dangerous it can be. Then I’ll see you in the tiger’s cage bright and early tomorrow morning, Jezebel. With your arm down. Unlike the front page of the papers back home tomorrow,” he grumbled.
The Prime Minister and his security detail left.

With the door closed and locked, Aunt Cathy collapsed into her chair. Jezebel stood relaxed. When Astar appeared beside her, Jezebel also collapsed onto the couch in fits of laughter.
“How was that?” Astar asked, seeking approval.
Jezebel kept laughing, unable to stop.
“Bloody terrifying,” Aunt Cathy grumbled.

 

 

CHAPTER 13

HARDEN

 

The meeting was over for now at the United Nations gathering in Japan. World leaders put down their headphones and packed up their documents relating to the war in eastern Europe. Their staff shook hands and moved out. The enemy was gaining territory against the pseudo‑Western alliance. Many casualties were being reported on both sides, including civilians.

“Thanks for your help today,” said the High Chancellor of the Wester Coalition, patting Ben Sharp on the back. “You were impressive, Ben. Good job.” And the High Chancellor kept walking.

Ben was a new member of the US mediation team, and the President had gone out of his way to thank him. Ben had thoroughly humiliated the Eastern Dominion and the Red Meridian Bloc delegates. His knowledge and ability in debate in any language had the ageing High Chancellor joking and urging Ben Sharp to keep going as he dismantled every argument thrown at him.

“Anytime, High Chancellor,” said Ben Sharp, watching the High Chancellor being led away by a security team.

“Oh, High Chancellor!” called out Ben Sharp. “I was hoping—”
“I can’t hear a word you’re saying,” complained the High Chancellor, shaking his head. “Come here!” he demanded.

Ben leaned in and whispered into his ear.
The High Chancellor pulled away and looked deeper into Ben Sharp’s eyes.
Ben smiled politely.
The High Chancellor tapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll speak later.”
“Thank you, sir,” bowed Ben.

Ben watched the High Chancellor being led into one vehicle from a fleet of black SUVs.
He packed up his documents into a briefcase, straightened his tie, and made his way to the elevator with several other members of his team. He stepped out and said goodnight to one of his fellow mediators, Noel Blair from England. Ben waited until Noel had gone into his room. Then he unlocked his own door across the hall and went inside.
Ten members of the Stranded were waiting.
“I tell you, my children,” said Harden — alias Ben Sharp. “We are this close to a nuclear strike.” He held his thumb and index finger an inch apart, smiling with a wild glint in his eyes.
“How can you be so sure, Harden?” asked Ross eagerly.
“I spoke to the President. He personally came to me. My power was like a magnet for the darkness within his earthly soul,” said Harden, throwing his suitcase to the floor.
“They have accepted you, my love,” hissed Juliet.
“So far. And hopefully right into the depths of Fariddion. With millions of our Fariddion slaves,” snarled Harden. “I’ll feed the High Chancellor’s soul to the Guardian Owls of Fariddion myself.”
“You’re doing well,” added Pocomoko, seated with his enormous legs stretched out into the middle of the room.
“So what is our next step?” leered Ross.
“Sabotage. We detonate a bomb at tomorrow’s meeting right before the President makes his speech. Just before that, we notify the Russian and Chinese delegates of a bomb hoax. They will look guilty after their lucky escape. Targeted retaliatory strikes into Moscow and Beijing will eventuate. Then we’re hours away from our goal.”
The door suddenly unlocked and a cleaner entered the room by mistake. The scruffy middle‑aged man looked from under the brim of his cap at the people in the room and quickly exited without hesitation.

“Ross!” snapped Harden.
Ross reached the door in a second and looked out into the hall just in time to see the door across the way closing. He checked no one was watching. He placed his hand on the handle and, with a quick jerk, snapped it off and disintegrated the internal lock mechanism with a jab of his finger.
Inside, Noel Blair stood from his chair and pulled a gun.
“Don’t move!” Blair shouted.
But as Blair looked away for a single second to pick up his glasses from the table, the man vanished.

Ross moved at superhuman speed, tracing the heat left by the man’s warm shoe prints, which led straight to a cleaner’s room. Ross broke the door open. The cleaner threw chemicals into his face. Ross watched the red liquid dribble down his black robe. The man begged for calm as Ross moved forward and broke his nose with a quick slap.
Ross lifted his fist to strike a killing blow but was stopped by Harden. Harden took the man’s face in his hand and stole any memory of seeing the Stranded or being attacked.
“We’ve drawn too much attention to ourselves already. Quick — I must materialise back to the room,” Harden ordered.

Harden prepared to open his door to a flustered Noel Blair.
“Leave!” Harden commanded.
The Stranded vanished.

“Noel!” said Harden. “What’s all the banging?”
A SWAT team poured out of the elevator and surrounded Blair.
“He just vanished. Just like I told the Captain here on the phone,” Blair said to Ben Sharp. He stepped back from Harden’s door and looked at the SWAT team Captain.
“OK. Where is it broken again, sir?” demanded the Captain.
Blair turned and pointed to his door — and froze. The handle was perfectly intact.
“But… but…” he stammered.
“I don’t see any damage, sir,” said the captain, as the team poured into his room.
“Neither do I,” admitted Blair. “It was broken a minute ago!”
He went silent.
“Did you see or hear anything, sir?” asked the Captain of Ben Sharp, standing just inside Blair’s room.
“Ah… unfortunately not a peep,” replied Ben Sharp coldly. “Sorry, Blair… it doesn’t look good, does it? It’s been a long day, Captain. Perhaps fatigue.”
“What the hell’s going on?” muttered Blair in a rage.

An hour later, Noel Blair was led away and relieved from his position on the mediation team and dismissed by the head of MI5.
Noel Blair’s future looked brighter.

 

“You shouldn’t let Ross deal with such matters, Harden,” hissed Juliet.
“Perhaps… you could do better?” said Sharp.
“Yes,” she hissed.
“Leave me,” demanded Harden. “They’ll be monitoring the mediation team all night.”
“Call when you are ready, dear Harden,” Juliet whispered, vanishing.

Ben Sharp sat back in the comfortable brown leather chair and waited.
“Living Earth time always moves so quickly,” he muttered, already dressed and restless.

 

Elvin and Karen watched Juliet leave the building. She walked along the sidewalk like any fearless woman out late in the cold. Sleet drifted sideways in the bitter wind. Juliet looked perfectly at home.
“Think we should have a little fun with our lady of the night?” asked Elvin.
“Oh sure… just park up ahead of her. Let’s see if she’s got any spark left in that body,” said Karen.
Elvin swung the sleek car in a tight arc and stopped against the gutter just ahead of Juliet, who instantly looked annoyed.
“Excuse me, honey?” said Karen, holding up an unlit cigarette. “Do you have a light?” she asked brightly.
“Here,” hissed Juliet — and hurled a burst of fire at the car.
Flames engulfed the vehicle.
“Light it on that!” she laughed, moving on.
Juliet turned just in time to see the fireball of a car spin wildly, twisting in tight circles before disappearing past her and going around the corner.
“Losers,” she muttered.
She rounded the next corner, taking a right at the lights. The wind hit her full in the face as a man in black leather walked straight toward her. She stopped, intrigued by his outfit.
They faced each other.
A strange look crossed Elvin’s face as he tried not to sneeze. Juliet frowned as his lip twitched.
“Oh… nearly sneezed, ma’am,” Elvin said. “No wait… ah, ah, ah—CHOO!”
The gust from his sneeze blasted Juliet’s cape clean off, revealing a shrivelled form beneath an oversized, worn tank top.
Juliet snarled and threw a burst of fire at him.
Elvin pivoted right, landing lightly on his toes in a dramatic stance. The blast missed and struck a dumpster, which erupted in flames.
Juliet threw again. Elvin dodged left, striking another pose.
“Hey, Jules honey,” called Karen, approaching from behind.
Juliet spun and unleashed a flurry of blue fire bullets. Karen slapped them aside one after another with bored efficiency.
The last one she caught.
Karen wound up like a pitcher and hurled it back at Juliet with impossible speed. It struck Juliet squarely, sending her tumbling along the sidewalk and into a cluster of bins.
Juliet groaned, clambering to her feet, fury rising — but Elvin and Karen were already gone.

 

Harden snarled at Juliet.
“You fool. They weren’t from the Living Earth. They are Fariddions — as surely as the Owls stand eternal guard over its gate.”
Memories flickered behind his eyes: followers torn apart, their energy consumed by the Guardian Owls. Even Harden felt a grudging respect for Fariddion’s protectors.
“But how?” Juliet hissed, now back in her black robe. “They never travel from Fariddion in Living Earth form.”
“They do.”
“They do?” Juliet blinked.
“Two hundred years ago. They interfered with the trajectory of an asteroid. It would have wiped out the Living Earth. They focused their entire energy on it and sent it into the sun. That caused problems too. But they interfered.”
“I see it now,” Juliet whispered, glimpsing fragments of the event in her mind.
“Or perhaps they’ve loosened their restrictions,” Harden said, pacing. A thought struck him. “If we could capture one of these car riders, we would have more leverage when we list our demands.”
“Or they know of our plans,” Juliet hissed.
Harden looked out over the buildings of Kawasaki.
“Then they will have to try and stop us,” he said. “There is no going back from here, my love.”
He pulled her into his arms, looking into her pale eyes with something like pity and kissed her hard.

 

 

CHAPTER 14

SUCCESS OR FAILURE

 

 

Harden looked up at the giant LED clock presiding over a section of the arched timber wall in the Grand Tatami Hall. It was 8:45 a.m. In one hour, two bombs were set to detonate. One in the main hall itself. The other, in the High Chancellor’s convoy vehicle.
Both devices were manufactured by the Eastern Dominion and the Red Meridian Bloc—and both now carried the fingerprints of high‑ranking military officials from those nations. An easy task in the dead of night for the Stranded.
Harden—operating under the alias Ben Sharp—was to detonate the first bomb hidden in his briefcase. As the reader already knows, such an explosion would not affect him at all. Others, however, within the vast hall, would suffer a terrible fate.
Except—at 9:40 a.m., the delegates from the Eastern Dominion and the Red Meridian Bloc would receive a credible assassination warning, prompting them to evacuate. Just as they reached safety, the hall would be obliterated. With Harden’s final encouragement, retaliatory strikes against the Eastern Dominion and the Red Meridian Bloc would follow, triggering the beginning of the end of the world as it was known.
The High Chancellor of the Western Coalition was the last to be seated as the Ministers of the Continental Union and the Northern Federation finished their rounds, exchanging polite chit‑chat for the cameras.
The Deputy Secretary‑General of the World Assembly, today’s chairwoman, began the final day’s proceedings as translators prepared for their complicated tasks.

Jezebel sat in a nearby reception room. A steady stream of excited staff took selfies with her while Aunt Cathy chatted to Brian and Pamela about how things were going. They particularly enjoyed the story about the Prime Minister, though Cathy conveniently omitted the stressful parts—which accounted for about seventy percent of the story.
Cathy hung up quickly when Pamela began demanding answers about an internet photo of Jezebel on a stage in the Hawaiian Protectorate.
Two officials entered and ushered the staff away, informing Jezebel in Japanese that it was time to proceed to the Grand Tatami Hall. Cathy was nervous, but Jezebel—helped by Astar—was calm and composed.
Jezebel carried Tibbar along the rice‑paper‑lined corridor toward the hall.
In Fariddion, the Council watched. Gamaden, as usual, was running late.
A warm round of applause greeted Jezebel as she released Aunt Cathy’s hand and walked down a stylish ramp into the centre of the 193 member states of the World Assembly. Cathy narrowed her eyes, taking in the moment.
“If they only knew,” she whispered.
Jezebel ascended a small platform surrounded by bonsai trees. She inspected them briefly before approaching the microphone. A media scrum at the base of the platform erupted in flashes. Three large cameras were positioned around the hall—two focused solely on Jezebel York.
Newsrooms around the world went live as Jezebel, holding her black toy rabbit, bowed and prepared to speak. She began with a short bow and thanked the hosts in Japanese. This caught many broadcasters off‑guard, leaving anchors to fill airtime with commentary about cultural respect, diversity, and the importance of greeting hosts in their own language.
“Today, I cannot go any further without mentioning Prime Minister Haruto Sato,” Jezebel said warmly. “After his tragic assassination, I would like to point out that he was a leader of immense character and charm—both here in the Federation of Nippon and abroad. Among many achievements, he oversaw the rebuilding of this nation after the devastating tsunami of 2011, and more recently, the Global Games.”
Applause rose. The Nipponese delegation stood.
“Thank you so much, ladies and gentlemen. What an inspiring welcome. I am very happy to be here today after accepting your invitation to address this council. You’re very brave!” Jezebel laughed. “My name is Jezebel York. I turn thirteen next week. I’m from a small village near the Isles of Albion called Bearing, just outside London. The youngest of two children. Daughter to Brian and Pamela York. Because my time is short, I will begin.”
Heads lifted in anticipation.
“Last century, in the dark days of 1945, the World Assembly was formed. A place where nations could learn to work and live together. A meeting place for the cultures of the world. In my opinion, it should stay that way. We are the World Assembly—not the World Assembly of One. A place to be heard. A place to find clarity about each other’s affairs.
“There have been so many highlights since its conception—maintaining peace and security, organising humanitarian assistance, protecting human rights, upholding international law. What a great job it has done. We are most impressed. We, the children and teenagers of the world, applaud it.”
Applause rippled around the hall.
“Many children, I’m told, are watching me now—both here and around the world. To all of you, I hope I can reflect a sense of common understanding. And not hide undesirable facts behind newly crafted complicated words—political jargon. Sorry, excuse me,” Jezebel laughed.
The audience laughed too—then, realising their guilt, quickly fell silent.
“The easiest excuse is the truth,” said Astar through her. “For as children, we are the future. But today, we are kids—still learning the complicated ways of the world. One of those complicated ways is the world’s desperate need for us to believe the adults in the room have everything right. Age does not solely gift adulthood. In many ways, they do. But stay close to your family values. If they are strong, keep them strong. The world needs that more than ever.
“The conception of the World Assembly navigated the world away from difficult waters to safer shores in the second half of last century,” Jezebel smiled.

The politicians smiled broadly, glowing with excitement at Jezebel’s sudden shift to uplifting words of appreciation. Several groups even rose for a brief standing ovation.
“Yes. Oh yes, we thank them… unfortunately, the charted courses they set encountered influential challenges from the Western Coalition’s strong sense of global authority after the Great Continental War, and the Eastern Dominion’s pride in defeating the Iron Legion. And so a constant divide was formed until the fall of the Iron Divide. The closing years of the 20th century saw the world grow a little safer with the Mid‑Range Peace Accord, signed by Chancellor Reddin and Premier Gorvak.”

Jezebel took a sip of water. Astar, it seemed, had planned to do quite a lot of talking.
“Our hope for a brilliant beginning to the 21st century was shaken by the terrible Twin Spire Attacks. There is little doubt we commiserate that this event altered the course previously plotted in the 20th century. That course—and their wishes—were reset by forces both seen and unseen.
“You are now taking on responsible positions as Captains, Commodores, Admirals. You have the authority to set the world’s course in so many ways. So as elected and non‑elected officials—before you look with your ambitions to conquer new lands, passages, records, or pursue a modern‑day sense of global deliverance—please remember who your current crew is.
“Us. The children." More applause.
“We are always the same. Feed us and we are happy. Punish us and we cry. Show us love and you will get love in return. Show us games and we will hop, skip and jump. Show us devices with too much information and our young minds can be confused and manipulated by those who know no better. With or without guidance, this is a struggle. There are many wonderful things to see and share on these devices, and there are many bad actors as well by just a simple swipe,” Jezebel giggled.
The room quietened, save for a few scattered coughs.

“Are you enjoying my lecture?” Jezebel asked. “You did invite me, remember?”
Warm laughter and applause followed.
“Please be careful with your sense of correctness. It is important to hear all sides of reason. It has not improved anything to rewrite a subject so that only one side of the classroom hears what it wants. Such opinions make the answers obsolete. This applies to all forms of education—for children and adults. Children do not need such antagonism.
“High Chancellor, may I ask you a question?”
“Go ahead,” the High Chancellor of the Western Coalition smiled.
“Yane no joku wo kikimashita ka?” Jezebel asked.
“What did she say?” the Chancellor asked, baffled, until the interpreter explained:
“She asked if you’ve heard the roof joke.”
“Oh, no, I haven’t heard the roof joke,” he said.
“Ki ni shinai de kudasai. Sore wa anata no ue ni arimasu,” Jezebel smiled, waving her hand.
“Don’t worry about it. It’ll go over your head,” the interpreter translated.
The room erupted in laughter, and the Chancellor loved it.
“Thank you, thank you. As a citizen of a member nation, it is important to have my opinion heard. Of course, I realise some of you will hate what I say. And some will find my words acceptable.
“From a spiritual perspective, I feel life on Earth is not the end of our journey. I, Jezebel York, believe that when I die, I move to another place to live. And there, in this place—some call it heaven—there is no longer a desire for change, but the change we are shown is the one eternal path of peace and love.”
A pause. Two Nipponese children appeared from nowhere and asked for Jezebel’s signature. She signed happily. The members applauded as the children slipped away.
A strange silence fell. Some wished she’d finish. Others found her speech a breath of fresh air.
Jezebel drank more water and looked closely at the faces before her. She could read their souls. It frightened her. She saw things of concern and things of grace. She gasped—Astar calmed her.
“A reduction of pace is required. Please slow down. Birth is a nine‑month process. A child is nurtured and washed and held. They must learn to talk. To read. Believing you are entitled, deceptive, or perhaps simply out-of-control... or being controlled.... There are consequences. Reduction in energy cannot be a cost for families to bear during this time of nurture. You must find other ways, or the child suffers—and you will suffer. The world will not stop turning because of us. Reductions in health, wealth, culture, identity, and medical choices should stop. As should the rising cost of electricity and gas—essential for safe, easy, cost‑effective living standards, which at this point the World Assembly is failing to protect.”
“Thank you for your time, Jezebel,” said Hilda, Deputy Secretary‑General of the World Assembly, stepping forward to end the speech.
But instead, to her own confusion, she leaned into the microphone and said:
“Only kidding. What a wonderful speech this is. A warm round of applause, please, everyone. We really are enjoying it. Thank you, Jezebel. Do go on. It’s about time some hard truths were spoken here.”
She returned to her seat, leaving several bureaucrats stunned. Newsrooms clattered with headlines.
“Thank you so much, Deputy Secretary‑General. Your words of support are so true. We are all aware of a certain speech on the 24th of September, 2019—the UAS Address—which placed blame upon you. How dare you? I also say similar words. But not with bitterness or volatile emotion. I say: how dare you change course. There is always time. The world will not end because plant and animal decay returns to the atmosphere. This is not a crisis. You have nothing to be ashamed of in the World Assembly’s role in improving the lives of many. That is your main job. Protect the old‑growth forests that filter our waterways. Protect the habitats of animals that need land and sea to exist beside us. Care for the whales. Reduce plastics. Recycle. Recycle. Recycle. Invent. Improve. Go to the moon. Your course is to help your fellow child, woman, and man. Continue the giant leaps for humankind.”
Applause rose again. Cathy stood in the hallway, listening to the words of Fariddion.

“A certain amount of tyranny is written in your pages. I say trim your sails. Trim your ambitions. Discuss your course. Weigh anchor. Celebrate life. Celebrate what we have accomplished. Become more harmonious individuals. Do not confuse honour with power. Stop declaring sweeping laws that outlaw farmers’ inherent right to feed the world. Remember that wonderful concert from last century? Relearn to feed the world. We are the world. We are the children. We are the ones who make a brighter day. So let’s start giving. Celebrate where we have come from. Celebrate peace. Freedom. Celebrate those who sailed us here. Stop looking to fix what is not broken. To the Prime Minister—may I ask you something?”
“Oh, go on then,” the Prime Minister laughed.
“Benjaro Franquin wa denki wo hakkenshita toki dono yō ni kanjimashita ka?” Jezebel asked.
“Shock,” the interpreter answered.
“Shokku!” the Prime Minister replied.

“Are you sure you didn’t get a little help with that answer, Prime Minister?” Jezebel giggled.
“Ah, well… perhaps. Perhaps just a little. I… I… I heard the answer in my head,” the Prime Minister of the Isles of Albion admitted, smiling sheepishly. “I’m too impulsive.”
The room chuckled.

“Thank you, thank you. The last thing I’d like to say to you all today is this: if you must fear the demise of Earth, fear it most through the onslaught of a nuclear war. The end of the human race by our own inventive hands. This is irreversible for centuries. There would be no chance of rebuilding after a 21st‑century nuclear conflict — only a slow, suffering end for humankind. Like the phoenix. But not for some the animal kingdom, who would inherit large parts of the Earth.
“If peace is not written on your agenda today, then perhaps you have taken the wrong job. For in 1945, this was the World Assembly’s main goal. Peace. A coming together of nations. Do not rebuild walls between the people you represent."

She paused.
“I humbly thank the World Assembly for giving me this small opportunity to share my concerns for my generation. My task here today is almost complete. I will always have peace in my heart while the tide carries your hopes and dreams along your voyage of discovery. And to my fellow children watching today, I say: be children first. You will sit in these seats one day. With a good heart, you can do good. With a wise heart, you can see the good others may not. Take command of the wonderful, beautiful, glorious Earth. Our ship.”

Jezebel looked around the room. She raised her open hand in a gesture of welcome and thanks.
“In darkness, there is darkness — with a chance of light.”
The room went black. Murmurs rose. Was this planned?
“In light, there is light — with a chance of darkness,” Jezebel said.
Emergency lighting flickered weakly, casting long shadows. When the main lights returned, Jezebel was gone.

Harden checked the time. Thirty seconds until the delegations of the Eastern Dominion and the Red Meridian Bloc were meant to evacuate. But they didn’t move. They sipped tea. Ate snacks. Relaxed.
The warning calls had not been made.
Ross had failed.
Elvin and Karen had interfered with that matter.

Seconds bled away. Harden stood, whispering the countdown.
“Six. Five…”
The Vice Chancellor of the Western Coalition stared at him in confusion.
“Two. One…”
Nothing.
Harden trembled with rage. He reached for his briefcase.
It was gone.
Across the hall, Jezebel held it above her head. She turned and walked calmly toward the exit.
Harden vaulted over the Western Coalition delegation’s desk, ignoring the protests of the High Chancellor and Vice Chancellor. He leapt onto the speaking platform, knocked aside the towering Mr Mori with ease, and sprinted after Jezebel.
She flung open a door and slipped inside, escaping his grasp by inches.
Harden followed, ready to kill her and detonate the bomb immediately afterward.
He charged into the room — and was swallowed by blinding pink and orange light.
He swung wildly, roaring.
Then he fell.

Harden crashed face‑down into hard snow. He gasped, clawing at the icy ground. He looked up to see a tall young blonde woman and an older woman leading Jezebel by the hand along a cloudy path that extended off the mountainside. Jezebel glanced back. Tibbar did too.
Then, they vanished.

Harden staggered to his feet. The wind howled, whipping his tie into his eyes. He tore it off and screamed into the frozen emptiness. He threw it onto the ground next to a frozen old dark cloak.
“No… NOOOOOOO!”

Jezebel stood on the great white circle in the Shop of History with Tibbar, Astar, and Mrs Sheen.
Fariddions filled the shop and spilled into the lane outside. Storm was there. Fire. Earth. Water. Bootum. Rubbuz. Sitting Wolf. Even Bluey flickered into view for a moment.
JW and his dog Archie reached her first, cheering. Bells rang from every door — hundreds of tones, hundreds of shapes — all celebrating.
“Thank you for your help, Jezebel,” Tibbar said. “Fariddion is safe. And so is the living Earth.”
“You did very well,” Astar added.
Jezebel laughed. “I’ve never talked so much in my life!”
Astar laughed with her.
“Now,” Tibbar said gently, “we must save you.”
“What do you mean?” Jezebel asked.
A hush fell.
The bells stopped.
Fariddions stepped back as a soft white glow formed around Jezebel’s feet, expanding outward in a perfect circle.
Astar placed a steady hand on her shoulder.
“You have crossed a threshold,” she said. “You have spoken truth to the world. You have changed the course of nations. And now the world will look for you… and not always with kindness. But not for some time.”
The glow brightened.

Mrs Sheen stepped forward, eyes full of ancient worry.
“Every child who carries light must be shielded from the shadows it attracts,” she said. “Fariddion is safe. But you, Jezebel York… you are not.”
Jezebel swallowed. “What happens now?”
The sky above Fariddion cracked open like glass — not falling but revealing. Behind it swirled a vast expanse of shifting colours, like storm‑tossed northern lights.
A deep voice rolled across the lane:
“THE CHILD HAS SPOKEN. THE WORLD HAS HEARD. NOW THE YOUNGER GENERATION WILL SEEK DEEPER TRUTHS.”
Tibbar bowed. “The Council has decided. You must be hidden. Protected. Prepared.”
“Prepared for what?” Jezebel whispered.
“For the return,” Astar said softly. “For the moment when Fariddion calls you again.”

A sportscar screeched to a halt right in front of Jezebel. Karen jumped out with Aunt Cathy and Elvin smiling.
The swirling sky bent downward, forming a spiralling column of light that touched the ground before Jezebel. Fariddions gasped. Aunt Cathy clutched Elvin’s arm. Storm stepped forward, eyes wide.
Jezebel felt the pull — warm, familiar.
“Is this safe?” she asked.
“For now,” Tibbar said. “But the path ahead will not be. But not straight away.”
Elvin guided Aunt Cathy into the column of light beside Jezebel. Cathy took Jezebel’s hand.
Astar knelt, eye‑to‑eye with her.
“You saved Fariddion. You saved the living Earth. But the forces that wished for destruction have not vanished. Harden was one. There will be others. Possibly in your lifetime.”
Jezebel’s heart thudded.
“So… what do I do?”
Astar smiled — proud, sad, ancient.
“You grow. You learn. You rest. And when the time comes… you rise.”
The column of light flared.
Fariddions bowed.
Aunt Cathy squeezed Jezebel’s hand.
“Ready?” Astar asked.
“No,” Jezebel said honestly. “But I’ll go anyway.”
The light swallowed them.
Bells thundered. Doors boomed open and shut. Fariddion roared in celebration.
And as Jezebel and Cathy vanished into the swirling brilliance, a final whisper echoed across the realm:
“THE WINDMILL GIRL HAS BEGUN HER JOURNEY. OUR JOURNEY REMAINS… FARIDDION.”